


The Ghost Room

by dogboy182



Category: Fall Out Boy, Jack Off Jill, Midtown, Mindless Self Indulgence, Morningwood, My Chemical Romance, Nirvana, Panic! at the Disco, Taking Back Sunday, The Academy Is..., The Used
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Frerard, Ghosts, M/M, Mental Disorders, Multi, Peterick, Ryden, brallon, gabilliam - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1350064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogboy182/pseuds/dogboy182
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something so awfully strange about him that I don't think I could put it into words if I tried. He was so distant, so out of touch with the world around him. He could stare at something, and stare for hours, but never really see it. It was like he wasn't living in the same world as me. If I saw something solid and definite, to Gerard that something would simply be present in his vision but, somehow, not there at all. It was as if he lived in a state of continuous dream, like everything around him was solid but malleable under his palms if he needed it to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Weird interesting."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I'm planning to put a lot of work into- it's about friendships, romance, cigarettes, ghosts, and the reckless life of teenagers. It's just starting out, but I'm hoping it'll go places.
> 
> Enjoy!

Cigarette smoke is my second home. It is all-consuming, it is dirty, and it is disgusting. It makes me hate myself. It's just like anything else that leaves my mouth, it makes me feel stupid and reckless and it makes me want to shoot myself in the head. But it's familiar. It reminds me of my mom, my grandma. It reminds me of the kid I looked up to as I was growing up who turned out to be a drug addict. It made me feel all warm and fucking fuzzy inside.  
That only applied to my own cigarette smoke, though. I couldn't stand other people's cigarettes. Why should I breathe your fucked up, tainted air? Keep your smoke in your lungs, I'll keep my smoke in mine. This isn't fucking preschool, we're not sharing things here. That's not how this world works. Sharing doesn't work anymore.  
I've always had a personal belief that it's never too early in the morning for a cigarette. No matter how dense the fog, if you had the ability to fuck up the air even more with pre-rolled suicide smoke, I say go for it. Screw up the planet as much as you fucking can. Make your mark.  
That is, as long as you do it in a place that doesn't involve me breathing your goddamn cigarette smoke.  
"Fuckers," I said, wiping my nose on the back of my sleeve. I hated the group of assholes who stood on the corner by the tattoo shop and smoked every morning. Who the hell wakes up before the sun rises to smoke a cigarette with friends? Only inconsiderate assholes. If you're going to smoke early in the morning, please, for the love of god, do it in private.  
I had a hunch they were all gay, too. Don't get me wrong, I was all for attractive boys- but it fucking pissed me off that they hung out in a pack, like wolves or something. Couldn't I go five minutes without thinking about how I wish I had the guts to ask at least one of them out on a simple date? Apparently not. They had to go and be gay and travel in groups and remind me that I was just gay and fucking lonely.  
Assholes.  
I was lucky that day, though. I was running late so there were only three or four of the beautiful bastards out smoking, and none of them took much notice in me when I walked by.  
The record store was cold. "Turn up the heat, bitch. It's almost winter. You want me to get pneumonia, or something?"  
"Well, you just want it to get hot enough for me to take off my clothes."  
I flipped Ryan off as I crossed the room to lean over the counter. His clothes were cute, I found- a pastel yellow, floral button-up shirt and a brown vest. He had on tight pants, and a weird, old-ish looking gray scarf. It was typical Ryan Ross and it was motherfucking adorable, but it wouldn't exactly look better on a bedroom floor than it did on him.  
"I hate you," was all I could think to say in response.  
He winked, all long eyelashes and leather brown eyes. "You couldn't get me in bed if you tried, babydoll." Ryan spoke in such a casual manner that I would think he was flirting with me if I didn't know him better. He could make a snowstorm in July sound regular with that voice of his.  
"Fuck off, man," I spat, standing up straight, pushing my shoulders back. I hoped if I looked intimidating enough, he would shut up. "And don't call me that."  
His eyebrows rose in realization. "Someone's being a bitch today."  
"I had a shitty morning, I'm not in the mood for joking. And don't call me a bitch, either, dickwad."  
My best friend pouted at me, like he wasn't being a jerk. "Frankie have a rough morning getting his lazy ass out of bed?"  
"Ryan Ross," I said, glaring at him. "Fucking fuck off. I'm said not in the mood."  
He stretched as far over the counter as he could until I leaned forward, letting him kiss my temple. I didn't understand why he did that, but he always had since we were kids and for some stupid reason it was comforting. I couldn't help but wonder why his parents had been so surprised when he came out of the metaphorical closet, though. When your son always has his mouth on his best friend's face it should be, like, a red fucking flag.  
"I'm sorry, man," he said, and for the first time that morning he sounded like he cared. He stood up from his stool and walked around the counter to stand in front of me. His fingers brushed across my wrist, reminding me of how he had such girly hands.  
Everything about Ryan was girly. Delicate fingers, slim body, nice cheekbones. He had thin arms and thin legs, and he even sort of dressed like a chick sometimes. It was cute, though, so I didn't tease him about it too often.  
"What happened? You wanna' talk about it?"  
"The usual happened," I said, walking away, heading across the record store. I loved him but I didn't want to deal with his 'I'm gonna try to help you' bullshit. I didn't want to deal with him touching me. Even though he'd asked and I'd said no, I knew he would still hug all over me and try to make me talk about it.  
It was Saturday and we had school in two days and all I wanted to do was listen to The Misfits and get fucked up. Was that too much to ask for?  
He was watching me as I crossed the room, though, there was no escaping him. "You're not doing this today, Frank," he said, voice tainted with a considerable amount of annoyance. My hands faltered as I straightened a stack of flyers for some concert happening this weekend that I didn't care about. "You're not shutting me out of your head again, that never helps anything. I'm worried about you."  
I didn't answer. I didn't want to answer, he didn't deserve one. Fuck him and fuck my guilt. They could both rot in hell.  
I glanced around the store, not sure what to do with myself. The room was wide, the roof was low; there were the typical weird type of carts that held records, four of them all lined up. There were two tables towards the front of the place, one on each side of the tall, wooden door. I was standing in front of the table on the left, we kept it stacked with CDs and flyers and other shit people liked to have quick access to. The other table was covered in folded up band shirts. The rest of the store was room for walking, because sometimes the store became more of a social gathering area than a place of business.  
"Dude, stop fucking ignoring me."  
No one who worked here was exactly popular, but the kids who hung out here with Ryan and Patrick and I were all the same. None of us had anyone but each other. It felt sort of lame, but Ross Records was the only record store in town and was therefor an excellent place for meeting other people who didn't have much of a life beyond their love for music.  
Ryan's father had owned the shop for, like, twenty years, and the staff consisted of Mr. Ross, Ryan, me, and this polite kid called Patrick Stump. Sometimes our friend Brendon Urie would fill in if needed, like if one of us got sick or had plans we couldn't cancel. We had a rule that there always had to be at least two people working unless Mr. Ross was the one by himself.  
It never felt like a chore, though, not to any of us. We got to pick which music played in the store and we could take money out of our paycheck to get what felt like free records and shit. Plus the back room was like a second home to everyone, so it was always a comfortable place to be. There was an old couch, a CD player, and a coffee machine, and there was always some type of food in the mini-fridge, even if it was only girl scout cookies or a bowl of mac-and-cheese that someone's mom had sent. It was a good place and we all loved it, Ryan and I practically grew up together behind the counter.  
Ryan cleared his throat and I sighed, asking, "What?"  
"You're my best friend," he said, sounding annoyed. "Just tell me what's wrong." I focused my eyes on a half-fallen poster on the left wall of the store, making a mental note to grab some tape and fix it later. There didn't seem to be a free inch of wall space in the room, we kept it as covered with posters, album art, and show flyers as possible. "We do this every time, I ask what you're being so pissy about and you feed me bullshit about not wanting to talk about it." He shut up after that, which confused me, because as laid-back as he acted, when he got annoyed he could talk about it for hours.  
I turned, and- and goddammit. I'd fallen for it.  
He was leaning against the gray, hip-height counter, pretty fingers holding the edge and his knees bent at the relaxed angle that meant he knew he was winning. "I'm just trying to figure out how to help, okay? Who else could you go to about this, anyway, who else is gonna' put up with your shit? I don't know why you never accept my help, you obviously need it."  
He meant well but he was being an asshole about it, he always was. We both knew I was addicted to how shitty he could make me feel and that he was addicted to watching me crack beneath that beautiful voice of his.  
It's how we worked, it's why we worked. He kissed my face and broke me down and I held his hand and let him fuck with my head. It was toxic, it was shitty and fucked up. He felt like battery acid, sometimes, but it was worth the friendship.  
When I got upset or annoyed, he liked to push my buttons and make me feel like a complete dumbass. I let him do it because I had a guilty conscious- when we were kids I'd beaten the shit out of him more than once.  
I'd always had anger issues, it was part of the reason I didn't have many friends. I always ended up snapping on people. I'd broken two of Ryan's ribs and his left pinky in seventh grade. Most days it surprised me that his parents let me near him. He'd never fought back, though, and he'd always forgiven me after I hurt him. I didn't get that, like, why would you let the little punk who used you as a punching bag continue to be your best friend?  
Since then, though, I felt I owed something to Ryan, something I could never give back. That's why I let him treat me like a complete basket case. He knew I was fucked up and he knew I needed to talk about it, even if I pretended to be okay, even if he did become a complete dick when he was trying to help.  
I was an angry, whiny son of a bitch, I was a raging ball of fire who destroyed everything he touched. Ryan was a nonchalant, laid back sort of dude, he was this delicate flower of a boy who could cure cancer with his voice. We balanced each other out by reversing the roles every once in a while, when Ryan got his revenge for how I tortured him when we were younger. I became the flower and he turned into the little asshole who came along and played with matches until he'd found a thousand different ways to burn my petals.  
Our relationship felt fucked up and always had, but it was sort of perfect. I'd beaten the physical shit out of him, so he got to beat the emotional shit out of me.  
"Nothing is wrong that you can fix, man," I said. "I'm lonely."  
"I'm here." His voice was almost as cold as the early-October air. He could hook me so well- he understood how I worked, what made me tick, and he knew how to fuck with it. "You're not alone."  
"Being alone and being lonely are two different things." I almost rolled my eyes but it hurt, it sort of stung to think about. I had friends, I wasn't alone. But it felt like it, and that made it worse.  
"Come here," he said.  
Crossing the room to get to him was a walk of shame. He was watching me and I'd never felt more self-conscious. I felt like I was doing everything wrong. Was I standing straight enough? Were my pants hanging right on my hips? Was my shirt straight, did my hair look okay? What the fuck was I supposed to do with my hands?  
"Calm down," he said. It sounded like an order, one I didn't know how to follow.  
"Sorry," I said. My fingers were trembling so I folded my arms across my chest and tucked my hands under my armpits. He was making me feel guilty and stupid for being lonely and there was nothing worse I could think of that one human being could do to another. "I'm sorry."  
He lifted his hand to my face and I blinked, his fingertips brushing hair away from my forehead. "What's wrong with you, huh? You're acting like a child."  
And he was right, I was. This wasn't the normal reaction he got out of me. We bickered and argued all the time, but I almost never gave up the fight.  
"You know what's wrong," I said. "You of all people should know what's wrong."  
That was always when things got rough, when I started pulling my 'no one understands but you' bullshit.  
Ryan tried, he tried so fucking hard to understand, but he didn't have a full idea of what was wrong with me. I think maybe that was why he had stuck around even after I hurt him. He got that he had an advantage over me, even if the advantage wasn't clear.  
My germ phobia had somehow ruled Ryan as the only exception among my friends, he'd slipped mentally into a place that not even I could grasp the concept of.  
I was a walking contradiction of emotions and I didn't know how to explain it, not even to myself. I felt so lost inside of my own head. I hated touching other people but I craved to be held. I hated my body but I could never stop cleaning it. I couldn't stand ashes on the floor but I spent all my free time smoking.  
But Ryan felt clean to me. It was a delicate feeling, but a clean one all the same, and it was amazing. He was as close as I felt I could get to having an intimate relationship with another human being, even if it was strictly platonic. I needed him because I wanted to feel normal, I wanted to be able to touch things without feeling like puking, like everyone else.  
Ryan didn't know, though, how sometimes even words and memories, tastes and voices could feel dirty, but he'd listened to my drunken ramblings before. He knew he was the only person I felt okay to touch and I think he liked having that power.  
I was staring at my shoes.  
"Tell me what's wrong, besides that. Besides being lonely. You look like you feel like shit."  
"My parents were arguing about money again." I leaned all my weight on my left foot. The carpet was old and gray and rough- my shoes were black and torn up, but clean, and they looked familiar there. "It fucked up my mood."  
"How much have you done this month to mess up the finances?"  
I dug my teeth into the inside skin of my bottom lip, my fingers curled against body.  
"Not much," I said, but I had to force my voice to stay steady. I was lying and we both knew it. My obsessive showering and hand washing was killing my family's water bill. The way I burned through cleaning supplies didn't help much, either. My phobias seemed to be getting more and more expensive.  
I watched as Ryan's feet moved forward, felt those girly fucking fingers of his slip across my shoulders as he pulled me into a hug. I didn't hug back but I let him hold me, anyway.  
"It's not your fault," he said. Ryan's arms were warm and his hair was soft as it brushed against my right cheek. "It's not your fault, man." The inside of my mouth tasted sharp, like blood, but Ryan smelt like autumn air. The combination of the two made my chest feel heavy.  
I sighed, letting my cheek smush up against his, and he tightened his arms around my shoulders.  
There were some things Ryan could make me feel like complete shit about for hours, but he knew my parents arguing was something to drop before I got too upset.  
When he stopped hugging me, he turned away like he was sorry. "I love you," he reminded me. "We can drop it if you want to."  
I kissed his neck and he made a soft sound, smiling the tiniest of smiles.  
"Yeah, I know," I said, because I loved him too.  
It was funny because if anyone who didn't know us were to walk into the store, they'd think we were dating. People had asked so many times about it that sometimes we went along with the joke and Ryan used it as an excuse to sit in my lap.  
We'd only ever tried dating once, but we'd never had awkward sexual encounters, or anything like that. We'd known each other since we were three, we met at a fucking Burger King and our moms became friends, and since then we'd been what most people call an 'abnormal' amount of close. Ryan was the first non-relative I ever held hands with, he was my first kiss, he was the only boy to ever see my naked. But it had never been weird, it had never been awkward or embarrassing. It was always so natural with him.  
Ryan was messing with the scarf around his neck. I walked around the counter to where our two stools were and sat on the left one- it had a nick in the edge of the seat that I liked to pick at with my thumbnail sometimes.  
Ryan came to sit next to me on his stool, which had a top that spun around. He refused to let me sit there because he was an asshole and liked to hog all the fun.  
"Are we having dinner at my place or yours?"  
Ryan shrugged. "If it's your place, which of the 'rents is cooking?"  
"Dad, I think." I was lying because I knew he hated my dad's cooking, we both did, and I just didn't want to go home tonight until I had to.  
He nodded. "My place. For sure. Now, what'll it be today?" Ryan pointed a slim finger towards the shelves beneath the counter, where a small collection of our favorite records made their home. "Any requests?"  
"It's a Misfits day," I decided.  
Our default mood setting for the record store was almost always to put on American Psycho and sit there together in silence until something interesting happened.  
The coolest thing on the counter had always been the record player, everything else was just business cards and three dollar CDs that we switched out every Friday.  
Ryan stood up after he put the record on, glancing around the room. "To be honest there's not much that needs to get done," he said. "Patrick did inventory yesterday out of boredom, shit was so slow last night. I'm gonna' make hot chocolate, want some?"  
"No thanks," I sighed, leaning my elbows on the counter and sitting my chin in my hands, looking out the half-length window in the door. "But if you could bring me coffee that'd be great of you."  
Ryan nodded and patted my shoulder before abandoning me for the back room. I was half-suspicious he was only trying to give me a minute alone but I guess I was thankful for it.  
I zoned out for a while, nodding along to the music, until someone walked in the shop. It was weird 'cause we'd only been open, like, half an hour, and no one in their right mind came to a record store at nine thirty in the morning. But then again, maybe the guy wasn't in his right mind. He made a beeline for the records, didn't even look at me. He jumped when the door dropped shut behind him, like he didn't know that that was how the fucking laws of physics work, and that of course the door would close behind him. He reminded me of a baby deer walking for the first time, awkward and scared of everything but with a basic goal in mind.  
I cleared my throat, saying, "If there's anything you need help finding, let me know."  
The boy's hands flinched, like he wasn't expecting me to talk to him. He looked up, eyes wide. "Oh, uh, okay," he said. "Thanks."  
I nodded, waiting for him to stop looking at me. It was awkward and weird and maybe there was something wrong with my face or maybe he was just a freak. After a few seconds, though, he turned his green gaze back to the records and I looked out the window again. Ignoring each other's existence seemed to be the best thing to do.  
Ryan walked out of the back room, cup of hot chocolate in one hand, my coffee in the other.  
"Thanks," I said, my fingers brushing his long, thin, pretty ones as he passed me the warm cup.  
He sat on his stool and glanced at the guy, who was flipping through a row of Smiths records.  
"Oh, hey, Gerard."  
Gerard jumped like he had when I spoke to him, eyes wide again. He looked up at Ryan, giving a forced smile. "Oh," he said, before looking back down at the records. "Hey."  
Gerard was pretty, that was undeniable, but he gave off a weird vibe. He was pale, and not exactly thin but not chubby, either, and he had dark, messy hair. He dressed well, though, which struck me as odd, because who the hell wore button-up shirts on a Saturday? It was more business casual than just casual, and it ticked me off. I mean, Ryan wore button-ups with vests and scarves all the time, sure, but that was just Ryan being an adorable hippie douche-bag. Gerard had on a black button-up and leather jacket, with skinny jeans. There was a dark, gray and black striped scarf hanging around his neck. Who the hell pulled that off? To be honest, I was starting to feel a bit under-dressed.  
The guy looked familiar from somewhere, though, so I had to ask. "You two know each other?"  
Ryan nodded, pushing strands of his wavy hair out of his face. I resisted rolling my eyes, realizing he'd put on one of those thin headbands that made him look even more like both a hippie and a douche. "We're in the same English class," Ryan explained. "Gerard is a genius when it comes to poetry."  
Gerard gave a hesitant glance in our direction. "I wouldn't say genius," he said, voice hard to hear over the music.  
"But you're good," Ryan insisted. "You're a damn good poet, Gerard."  
Gerard blushed. He had a weird way of looking around, staring at random objects for too long like his eyes were too slow to follow his brain.  
"Want some coffee?" Ryan offered. "Or hot chocolate? We've got plenty."  
I watched Gerard pushed strands of hair out of his face, his fingers long and pale. He didn't look at Ryan, still looking at records. "Sure, yeah, coffee would be nice. Thanks."  
"No problem," Ryan said. He glanced at me. "Oh, yeah, uh. Frank, this is Gerard. Gerard, this is Frank." He'd disappeared into the back room before he'd finished the sentence.  
Gerard was staring at me again. Would it be impolite to stare back or was looking away worse?  
"Your mom works at the hospital, right?"  
I stuck my hands in my pockets. "Yeah, that's right. She works in the cafeteria."  
He kept fucking looking at me and I sort of wished something catastrophic would happen to distract him. Like maybe someone would crash through the store window, that'd be neat. A Hulk-sized cop could throw some random criminal's body into the store, and then proceed to beat the shit out of them, while The Misfits still played in the background. That'd be badass, and maybe then Gerard would have a reason to look away.  
"She's nice," he said, like bringing up a stranger's mother was no big deal. "She gives my brother and I free coffee sometimes. My mom and her talk sometimes."  
I nodded and sort of rolled my shoulders forward, not being able to stand how fucking creepy he was starting to be. "She's a good person," I agreed, wondering why he'd spent enough time in a hospital to know who a cafeteria worker's son was.  
He'd focused his gaze back on the records, away from me. I couldn't sit there and stay all fucking quiet, though. Who the fuck meets someone for the first time, stares at them and mentions their mother, and then shuts up? That was complete bullshit.  
"So you go to Eastern with me and Ryan?"  
"Yeah."  
I cleared my throat, fucking confused out of my mind. It wasn't exactly a small school, but it was weird to meet someone that I spent seven hours suffering with in the same building who's name I didn't know. "What lunch do you have?"  
"Third."  
I blinked a few times. "Ryan and I have third too, I-"  
"I don't eat in the cafeteria."  
"Oh," was all I could say. "Why do you- uh, why not?"  
He shrugged and looked at his shoes, his hands in his jacket pockets. "They said I need counseling so I go to the counselor during lunch."  
The staring game seemed to reverse, he wouldn't make eye contact, and I had no fucking idea what to say.  
Maybe he was a violent person and the school administration was scared he would blow other student's brains out if he ate in the cafeteria. But if that was the case, I should've been in there with him. I'd never admit it to anyone but school shootings made for interesting fantasies when certain people pissed you off.  
But no, Gerard didn't seem like a violent kid. He seemed too scared of his own shadow to bring any harm to people.  
But maybe that was it, maybe he did harm to himself. Suicidal thoughts, depression, I could tell he definitely had some form of social anxiety just by looking at him. It was all stuff I could relate to.  
"I'm sorry," I said, once I'd decided maybe he was fucking sad, like I was. "They shouldn't separate you from other people like that. It's not fair."  
"It's okay," he said, slim shoulders rising and falling in a shy shrug. "I don't mind. Talking to someone about things helps. Sometimes."  
Ryan came out of the back room and Gerard walked over to take the coffee. If I didn't know it were impossible, I would almost say his skin was even paler up close.  
"Thank you," Gerard said, his eyes focused on Ryan.  
Ryan, unlike me, didn't seem to panic under Gerard's gaze. He gave an easy smile and looked at the strange boy, saying, "What's your favorite Misfits song? Frank is obsessed with just about their entire discography."  
Gerard considered for a moment, like he was just noticing that The Misfits were blaring. "The lyrics to Who Killed Marilyn? have always caught my attention."  
I grinned. "I practically have that engraved in my memory, I could recite it like a poem if someone asked me to. I'm sort of obsessed with Angelfuck, too."  
Gerard's lips pulled back in an awkward half-smile. "Ever listen to The Smiths?"  
I nodded, glad to get such an odd person involved in a regular conversation. "Unloveable is pretty much my anthem."  
Gerard nodded, and he graced us with an almost nervous sounding laugh. "Yeah, mine too."  
"You should come by tomorrow," Ryan said, glancing at me and then back at Gerard. "Sundays are Frank's guitar day, and if you ask nice he'll take requests, sometimes."  
I sort of wanted to punch Ryan in the face. "Don't fucking volunteer that information," I said. "You know I don't like to play for strangers."  
"Gerard isn't a stranger," Ryan said, shrugging. "He's a nice guy."  
Gerard turned his gaze to his coffee cup. "I won't come if you don't want me to," he said. "But I'm a sucker for good music."  
I sighed. If I said no, Ryan would give me so much shit for it. "I don't mind," I forced myself to say, even though I could already feel the anxiety claw it's way up my throat. _I'd just met this guy._  Why the hell should I have to play music for him?  
"Do you know anything by Pantera?" Gerard asked.  
I nodded, fidgeting my fingers around my coffee cup. "Yeah."  
Gerard nodded, too, looking at the wall behind Ryan and I, holding his cup with both hands. It felt like he had picked up on my sudden change of mood. "I should go," he said, speaking to the wall like it would miss his company. He looked soft compared to the cream colored, rough surface of his paper cup. "You guys probably have important stuff to do."  
Ryan grinned. "Gonna' walk into my record store and not buy anything, man?"  
"I'll buy something tomorrow," Gerard promised, giving one of his half-smiles, no teeth, thin lips stretched back like it was hard for him to be happy. "I was looking for a friend, anyway. He can wait another twenty-four hours. But I'm serious, I don't want to bother anyone." He glanced at Ryan and then at me, and that was the first time I saw his eyes do anything except for stare. "Have a nice day," he said, and turned to leave.  
I didn't do much but blink as he crossed the store and let the door fall shut behind him, cold air rushing in the room for a quick moment.  
"What the fuck?" was all I had to say.  
Ryan laughed, his body language demanding my attention again. He was sitting so close to me, and his fingers brushed against my wrist as he spoke. He liked to be my center of attention and it occurred to me that he might've felt bothered by how interested I'd been in Gerard. "He's an odd one, isn't he?"  
"Weirdest fucking human being I've ever met," I said, watching Ryan's hand fall back into his lap. "But he's sort of cute, in like, an unsetteling type of way. Why does he eat lunch in the counselor's office?"  
Ryan shrugged, twisting around on his seat. "I have no idea," he said. "But there's some rumors."  
"Rumors?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.  
Before Ryan had a chance to start explaining, the door cracked open and a nervous looking Gerard stepped half-way into the room, coffee in one hand and unlit cigarette in the other. "Sorry," he said, using the cigarette hand to push strands of his raven hair away from his face. "But do either of you have a light?"  
Knowing there were some type of rumors about Gerard (rumors that were worth Ryan's time, which scared me because he wasn't one to waste time on shit like that,) freaked me out a bit. "Yeah," I said, anyway, my smoker's brain getting the best of me. I stood up, sitting my coffee cup on the counter. "I was about to go out, anyway." I slid a cigarette and lighter out of my pocket, realizing I hadn't even bothered to take off my hoodie yet. "You mind company?"  
Gerard shook his head a fraction of an inch and as I got closer to him, I decided he was pretty enough to make up for the hesitation.  
Gerard held the door open for me and I tried to make myself as small as I could while I walked out the door, careful not to let any part of my body touch his.  
He let it swing closed behind us and kept a close distance as I placed my cigarette between my lips and lit it. "Here," I said, handing him the red lighter, my cig wiggling in my mouth. He was standing maybe six inches away so I took a careful step back, turning my head and blowing smoke out of my lungs to hide how unsettled our proximity was making me.  
Our fingers bumped together, his hand careless as he slipped the lighter from between my fingers, his cigarette already between his lips.  
My hand flew to the pocket of my hoodie, slipping my stupid, embarrassing hand sanitizer out. I balanced my cigarette between my lips and prayed to whom-fucking-ever that he didn't notice me cleaning the germs off of my skin and returning the hand sanitizer to my pocket.  
Gerard sat his coffee cup on the ledge formed by a protruding brick in the wall next to us. His pale hands cupped around my lighter, flame leaping to the cigarette in a familiar pattern. He hadn't seemed to notice my hand-cleaning compulsion and I was thankful because sometimes my phobia could be embarrassing.  
"Thanks," he said, not making eye contact as he passed my lighter back. I was careful not to touch his skin that time.  
With his head tilted away his cheeks looked round, soft and child-like, way too young to be smoking. I felt like an adult standing next to him, I was turning seventeen later on that month. Knowing I had only a bit more than a year until I was "grown" was a terrifying thought.  
"No problem," I said, stiff, putting the Zippo back in my pocket, hoping I would remember to wipe off everywhere his fingers had touched later.  
We stood and smoked in silence for a few minutes, and he didn't look at me the whole time. I kept sneaking glances as he picked up his coffee cup, though, and sipped at it between doses of his cigarette. He had such a sweet face it was hard to believe he could be any older than fifteen, but god, his body gave his age away.  
It wasn't like I had been paying attention or anything, but I think I had the right to notice an attractive boy when he was standing a foot away and smoking a cigarette that was only burning because of a lighter that belonged to me.  
He was taller than I was, and his pants were fucking _tight_  like, not David-Bowie-in-Labyrinth tight, but almost there. His hands were smooth and pale and moved like a pattern, pushing his hair back, adjusting his scarf, shifting his cigarette between his pink lips. They fixed the collar of his shirt and flicked ashes from his cigarette. Every movement he made was a slight variation of one he already had, and it was memorizing.  
"So," I said, not being able to take the way his lips were having such an interesting conversation with his cigarette instead of me. He sort of jumped at the sound of my voice, looking over with raised eyebrows like it was surprising that I was talking to him, out of all people, even though we were standing on an otherwise empty street. He had his cig balanced between his fore-and-middle fingers as he removed it from his mouth and let out a breath of smoke. "Do you have to eat with the counselor, like, everyday?" I asked. "Is it mandatory or do you have an option?"  
Smoke curled out with his breath as he talked. "Well, it was never mandatory. My mom wants me to go because my doctor said it could be helpful or whatever, and there's nothing for me in the cafeteria, anyway."  
"You should- I mean, could- sit with us Monday," I said. I felt like I was asking him out on a date. "You and Ryan know each other, and you shouldn't be alone during lunch."  
His eyes fixed on his hand, watching paper burn. "Maybe," he said.  
"I don't want to impose," I said, looking out across the road. Across from the record store was a small bar that I'd only ever bothered sneaking in once. It was small and smelt like sex, or at least sort of like my room did when I was home alone, but with a lot more sweat. The one time I'd been in, I hadn't even walked two feet into the place before I realized that almost everyone in there was underage, like me, and any hopes I had of doing _something_  with an older guy were hopeless.  
I mean, I didn't always go for older guys, but I'd had a bet with Ryan that whoever kissed someone five years older first didn't have to pay for anything for three months. That was a huge deal since Ryan and I bought each other food, and Ryan had fucking expensive habits. I felt like some type of lame-ass, kiss-only hooker when I tried to do stuff in hopes of winning the bet, but the extra money in my wallet would be worth the humiliation and number of times I would have to brush my teeth and gargle mouth wash.  
"You're not imposing," Gerard said. "I just don't get invited to eat lunch with people that often. Well, like, ever. Never."  
I glanced at him, his soft face looking cold behind his tobacco rod. "Well, I don't invite people to eat lunch with me that often, like, ever, never, so..."  
He took a deep breath, like he was considering.  
"I'm not inviting you because I feel sorry for you, man," I said, clarifying. If I had said that to anyone else I would feel rude, but everything about Gerard was so odd it felt like a reassurance. "I want you to have lunch with us, I want to get to know you. You're strange and all but I sort of- I dunno, we just met, maybe I'm being weird. But you seem like someone I'd want to hang out with so I want to make that happen."  
He looked up at me and I looked back, and for the first time in my life, staring a stranger in the eye wasn't awkward. With Gerard, it felt like a language.  
His shoulders pushed back, his hand moved his cig away from his face. He breathed out the smoke, slow and considering from between his lips. "Okay, yeah. What class do you have before lunch?"  
"Algebra Two. With Gallagher, or whatever that dick teachers's name is."  
Gerard didn't turn his head, his eyes were on my face and my hands and I felt so uncomfortable, it hit me like a train and I wanted to puke. I felt like an animal in a cage and we were no longer equals, the second his eyes left mine I became an art exhibit and he was an expert trying to stick a price tag on me.  
I nodded at nothing, focusing my gaze on my shoes. "Ryan and I could meet you by the main stairs," I said, pressing my cigarette between my lips, sucking hard.  
"Okay," was all he said. "Sure."  
He wasn't looking at me anymore, he was looking at the shitty bar across the road. His face in profile was fascinating, he was like a porcelain doll and I'd never met someone who looked so, I dunno what the word for it was, fragile. Maybe not porcelain, I guess. The lines of his face, the shape of it wasn't sharp enough to be called fragile. He was hard to describe.  
"I'm nervous," he confessed.  
"Don't be," I said. "We're just people. We're not gonna' hurt you."  
He gave a short, unamused laugh. "Yeah, you being 'just people' is what makes me nervous."  
And then he dropped his cigarette, squashed the burning end with his shoe, pushed out his last lung-full of smoke, and walked away.  
"See you tomorrow," I said, raising my voice as he got further away.  
He had his left hand in his back pocket but his other hand swung outwards, two fingers waving near his hip in a lazy form of acknowledgement. I blinked as I saw that he had sat his coffee back down without me noticing, the cup sitting a fourth of the way full on it's protruding brick.  
I watched him turn the corner by the tattoo shop and then I dropped and crushed my cigarette, too, saying, "Damn," as if he were still standing right next to me.  
I turned and re-entered the record store, leaving his coffee there like it would call him back, and Ryan looked up as the door closed.  
"What happened?" he asked, pressing for details.  
"He's still coming tomorrow," I said. "And he's eating lunch with us Monday. And also I need to wash my hands."  
Ryan nodded, slow, following me to the back room of the record store and into the one-person bathroom, standing behind me and watching as I washed my hands, scrubbing each of my fingers clean individually.  
"Are you gonna go for it?" Ryan said.  
I blinked at him in the mirror. "Go for it?"  
"Y'know," he said, hushed, like Gerard would still be able to hear us. "He's totally your type."  
I rolled my eyes and dried my hands on my jeans, and then I flipped him off, letting him turn off the sink water for me. He followed me out to the counter and I sat on my stool, lifting my almost-cold coffee cup. "He is not 'my type.'" I made the stupid little air-quotes and everything with my free hand, because fuck. Types. Did people seriously have those? My mouth still tasted like smoke and it was a nice mix with the coffee. "I don't have a 'type.'"  
"Everyone you have ever dated had dark hair at the time," he said flatly. "Every boy you have ever kissed smokes, excluding, y'know, me when we were fourteen." He poked my shoulder. "You think pale skin is pretty, and I know that 'cause you told me once when you were drunk. You like guys who wear skinny jeans, you've got a total thing for that, don't even deny it, and you like boys you don't understand. You've always had a thing for that 'dark and mysterious' bullshit."  
"Fuck off," I said, turning away so I wouldn't have to see him and his ridiculous fucking headband making more sense than I was. "I met him ten minutes ago, I don't want him like that. Anyway, that is all so cliche. I don't have a type and I don't like him. And 'dark and mysterious,' what the fuck? He's just dark and _weird._ "  
"Then how _do_  you want him?" Ryan asked, and I wanted to punch myself because I did sort of leave that open for interpertation.  
I hesitated, being careful with how I chose my words. "I want him to be my friend. He seems interesting, and shit. Weird interesting."  
"At first, yeah," Ryan said. He leaned a bit closer to me. He smelt like coffee and it reminded me of my first kiss, our kiss, 'cause it had been winter and he'd tasted like coffee and peppermint and it had been awesome at the time. "But you're gonna' wanna' screw him eventually."  
"I've never screwed anyone," I said, looking at Ryan. "So how do you know what types of guys I wanna' screw? You know I wanna' date certain types of guys but maybe the guys I wanna' screw are completely different. Those things don't always go hand-in-hand."  
He leaned back and drank the last few sips of his hot chocolate. "So you wanna' date him, then? You haven't been on a date in, like, six months, Frank. Not since Jamia."  
I stood up and sat my cup back down on the counter. "I don't wanna' date him, and I don't wanna' fuck him, either. I want to be his friend. You're acting like a bitch."  
"You look angry," Ryan observed. "Did I piss you off?"  
"Yeah," I said, walking away from his stupid fucking big brown eyes and long eyelashes and innocent face. "I'm trying to make a friend and you're making assumptions."  
Ryan rolled his eyes and I hated him because, okay, yeah. I was sort of attracted to Gerard. But I was attracted to Ryan and to Patrick and to a lot of guys I had no interest in dating or kissing or screwing, so why did he have a right to assume I wanted to do any of that with Gerard? I had no problem admitting when I found a guy attractive, but hell, because I thought he was hot did that mean I wanted to be with him?  
And fuck Ryan, fuck him for bringing up Jamia. I date one girl and that means I'm a confused fuck up who can't even figure out if he's gay or not? Had it been that wrong of me, anyway, wanting to get to know her as more than a friend? She had been cute and she liked to tuck flowers behind my ear when we went on dates, and fucking hell, I'd never met anyone nicer than her. She got my Danzig references and she had understood how our relationship was never meant to be a permanent thing. She'd put up with how I had to wash my hands all the time, she didn't argue when I wouldn't kiss her if I didn't have access to a toothbrush, and she took my glances at guys as glances at other girls- she never asked about my sexuality or my issues with germs, and when I told her that, yeah, I like you a lot but I think I'm gay and this thing isn't working for me, she didn't freak out. She just kissed my cheek and nodded and we'd talked a lot since then, we'd stayed good friends. I loved her and she loved me, but it was platonic, even though Ryan still had his doubts.  
I stood in front of one of the rows of records and flipped through them. Those things were so fucking hard to keep organized, couldn't people put shit back where they found it? It's all alphabetical by artist and sorted by year, was that so hard to understand?  
"Frankie," Ryan said, soft.  
I rolled my eyes. He was putting on his "innocent" voice, the voice that sounded like he could do know wrong in the world, the voice that always caught me in the end.  
"Don't be mad, please. I'm sorry for bringing up Jamia."  
I sighed. He had me wrapped around his slim fucking fingers and he knew it.  
He'd figured out the first time I hit him that I would do just about anything if he made me feel guilty enough. I was a violent person, I wasn't going to lie to myself about that, but I'd never meant to hurt Ryan. We were best friends and I loved him and I hated the thought of doing anything that could ruin that, so he'd gotten good at using my guilt against me.  
"I'm not mad," I said. "But I wish you wouldn't jump to conclusions."  
"I'm sorry," he said again.  
I nodded. "I know."  
Everything fell into the music playing, The Misfits blaring like a good dream you never wanted to forget. It was amazing how sometimes music could say everything you were too scared to.  
I glanced up, hearing Ryan's footsteps close by. He was standing next to me and his mouth was on my cheek, apologetic.  
"I hate you," I said, soft, his fingers brushing mine as he reached to help organize the records.  
"I love you, too, asshole."


	2. "Smoking an invisible flame?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Me again! Sorry the update on this took so long, I've been obsessively editing this chapter (okay, well, I've also spent a lot of time on tumblr,) and I still don't feel like it's good enough. If you guys catch any typos or incorrect grammar, please do let me know! It's really important to me that I have this story be the best that it can be.
> 
> Anyway, not much to be said about the chapter itself. A bit of an update on the current-life-happenings-of-Eve, though: I'm going to Washington, D.C. this week! I'll be there from Tuesday night to Sunday morning, we're going up to visit my aunt and cousins. I'm really excited to see the spy museum again, haha, but there's also a few different ghost tours that I'd really love to take, for research purposes for this story. When my dad and I were in Asheville, NC, a few weekends ago (his band is recording an album, so they were at Echo Mountain Studios for 14+ hours,) we went on a very interesting and helpful ghost tour! I learned a lot of cool information that I'm hoping to squeeze into this story.
> 
> That being said, I have a bit of homework for you, readers: if you feel comfortable sharing, I would love to hear about your personal experiences with ghosts. I'm constantly looking for inspiration for scenes to put into this story, and if any of you have experienced paranormal happenings, it'd be a huge help to hear about your experiences. I've never been a believer in ghosts, demons, angels, etc., but due to various anxiety issues, they still scare the complete shit out of me. I've never had my own "contact" with the dead and because of the anxiety issues, I've always been too nervous to explore too far into spirit writing, mirror games, lucid dreams, and so on. (Though a few friends and I have experimented with an Ouija board before, which was fun. Most of it can be explained psychologically, though, so it didn't spook me too bad. As far as lucid dreams go, however, I do suffer from some pretty shitty sleep paralysis.) Anyway, what I'm asking is that if any of you could leave a comment or message me with details about any paranormal or spiritual (talking to a deceased love one, near death experiences, out of body experiences, etc.) situations that you've been in, I would be so completely thankful!
> 
> Anyway, that's enough of my blabbering- I hope you all enjoy!

"Your voice is so pretty," Ryan said. "Sing me something soft."

"Any specific requests?"

"Something sweet."

Ryan was sitting on the record store counter and his feet were resting on my knees.

"You're sweet enough for the both of us," I said.

He stuck his bottom lip out, almost pouting. "I wish you had brought the acoustic."

We had customers in the shop but Ryan didn't seem to care, he was totally ignoring them, even though both girls went to school with us and I was sort of friends with one of them.

"I'll bring the acoustic next Sunday," I promised.

"You don't love me," he argued, leaning forward. He had on skinny jeans, a button-up floral shirt, and one of his dumb headbands. He looked like an absolute hippie but I couldn't complain because it was sort of adorable.

"I do," I said, stretching up and kissing his nose. "I so do." He looked skeptical, so I told him, "You can come to my house and hear the acoustic anytime you want, okay? But I'm gonna' play the electric today. Get over it."

Ryan sighed but someone behind him cleared their throat so I didn't get to hear whatever his next complaint would have been. He let his feet fall off of my knees and stood up from the counter, turning around and presenting his best 'I'm-the-owner's-son-and-shouldn't-be-fucking-around,' smile.

"Hi, ladies," he said.

"Hi, Ryan." Frances looked at me and half-smiled in the way she always did when she came to the record store, like we had an inside joke. "Hey, Frank."

"Hey, Frances." I half-smiled back because, yeah, we didn't have an inside joke but sometimes if we got bored in History class we'd talk about music. Every time she came in the record store we turned into giggling wrecks, because what had once been only a daydream for us to discuss turned into a reality. The two of us once spent an entire hour talking about Metallica (and when they started sucking) without realizing it.

Frances Cobain had a super great fuck-the-world type of attitude, she didn't seem to care what other people thought and I admired that about her. She had mega-bleached hair and always dressed dark, and some days I really wished I'd taken the time to get to know her beyond just her music taste and favorite bands. I'd been meaning to ask her to hang out one day, or something, but every time I tried to invite her to do something I ended up talking about how MTV has gone so downhill, and we just complained to each other about how fucked up the media was.

There was a girl with Frances, but I didn't know her name. She'd been in the shop a few times, and I'd seen her at school for sure, but I don't think we'd ever talked. She was super tan and for some reason I associated her face with wrestling- maybe she was on the girl's team or maybe I'd seen her wear a WWE shirt one day. We nodded at each other instead of actually saying hello, and I think Ryan said her name as she handed him the Smiths record she was buying, but I totally missed it.

"The Smiths," I said, nodding. "Fucking excellent band."

"Yeah," the girl said, brown eyes crinkling in the corners when she smiled. "I grew up listening to them." She had mocha-color hair that matched her eyes. I realized that she had been in at least one of my classes in middle school, she'd been wearing her hair the same way for years and used to have glasses.

"Alicia's boyfriend lost the CD," Frances said, like maybe she was explaining just to save me the trouble of wondering about the girl's name. "So I'm buying her the vinyl as an early birthday present."

"Well, your boyfriend obviously can't appreciate good music," I joked, adjusting my guitar in my lap.

"Tell me about it." Alicia shook her head. "I mean, his brother is so into The Smiths but Mikey is just clueless."

"I don't get how you two don't argue about that," Frances said, shaking her head, too. "If I can't get along with a guy's music taste, I can't get along with him." She motioned in my direction, like she was using me as an example for something. "Some guys are born with a naturally good taste in music, like Frank. But Alicia, you're gonna' have to, like, train Mikey, or something."

"Good luck training your boyfriend," Ryan laughed, handing the now bagged and paid for record to Alicia.

"Thanks," she said, grinning.

"Don't believe a word this boy says," Ryan said to Frances, waving his hand in my general direction. "He didn't know a thing about The Beatles until I force-fed their music to him."

Frances smiled. "I think he's doing alright on his own."

I grinned, pleased with myself, shifting my feet on the bar at the bottom of my stool so I could lean over my guitar. "Yeah?" And then I mumbled, "Ow, what the fuck?" because Ryan hit me on the back of the head.

"Don't even  _start_  to pretend like you're going to flirt. You're gay, remember?"

Frances tried to hide her smile behind the collar of her leather jacket, but Alicia just laughed.

I glared at Ryan, rolling my eyes. "Don't hit people. For such skinny fingers, they fucking hurt."

"Yeah," he said, smooth, popping open the cash register and handing the girls their change. "That's what you'll be saying when I shove them up your ass."

I almost fell off of my stool, and maybe almost died from embarrassment, too, because the girls were both laughing.

Ryan just smiled at them like nothing had happened, resting his hand on top of my head possessively. "Have a nice day, ladies," he said, as they walked away.

I glared at Ryan again as the door shut behind them, reaching up and knocking his hand away from my hair. "Now they're going to think you're fucking me. We go to  _school_  with them."

"What, you wouldn't let me fuck you?" he asked, leaning against the counter.

I rolled my eyes. "Would you let  _me_ fuck _you?_ "

He shrugged. "I think you'd be good at sex, Iero."

"Whatever, Ross," I said, shaking my head and strumming notes on my guitar.

He ran his fingers through my hair as he walked by me, to the back room. "Seriously."

"Bitch," I called after him.

"You know you love it," he shouted back.

Ryan knew how nervous I was about anything involving sex so he teased me about it every chance he got. I just could not get past the whole germ thing, because fuck, it was disgusting when you thought about it.

Sure, I'd been in a few relationships, here and there. When I was fourteen I dated a girl for about a week, and later on that year when I realized I was, like, one hundred percent gay, I went out with a guy for a month or so. It went okay, I guess, he wasn't exactly a keeper, but it still hurt when he dumped me, saying he couldn't handle the stress of trying to hide his sexuality from his parents and couldn't stand how I wouldn't hold his hand for too long, even when we were alone.

And, I mean, I got that. I totally understood. It had taken me two years to work up the courage to tell my parents I was gay after I figured it out myself, and when your first boyfriend couldn't touch you without washing his hands afterwards, it's kind of hard to understand why.

But when a guy tells you you're not worth the trouble, it stings, y'know? I'd been in a few relationships between then and now, but they'd all ended mostly the same way- either him leaving me because I couldn't touch him without having to clean off afterwards, or me freaking out about how close we were getting and ending the relationship with a text sent at two in the morning.

I think part of why I was such good friends with Ryan was because he didn't let me shut him out how I did everyone else. He'd never been ashamed of me and he never let me walk away.

When I got angry and started throwing punches, and no matter how many times I insisted I was okay afterwards, he didn't want to leave me alone when I spent hours cleaning off my bleeding knuckles.

Even when I'd gotten pissed at him, even when I'd broken down at three in the morning one time and shoved him out of my bedroom yelling about how I never wanted to see him again, he'd stayed. He didn't let me drop him as a friend, he didn't let my germ phobia bother him. No matter how many times I'd tried to push him away and told him I would just hold him back, he'd always fought to stay a part of my life.

He'd never left me or let me leave, and I loved him for it.

The door to the record store opened and I glanced up from my guitar, blinking at Gerard. "Hey," I said.

He had his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, gray and black scarf hanging around his neck just like yesterday. "Hi," he said, walking to the counter, looking warm in his black and white flannel shirt. "Were Alicia and Frances just in here?"

I nodded. It wasn't surprising that he knew them, I mean, we all went to school together, but somehow it still felt like we lived in way too small of a town. "Uh, yeah. You know them?"

Gerard nodded, looking around the store with his weird stare. He had dark circles under his eyes, they were impossible not to notice against his pale skin. "Yeah."

"Huh. Small world."

"I guess so. Were they buying a Smiths CD?"

I nodded, but realized he wasn't looking at me. "Vinyl, actually."

"Fuck." He almost smiled. "I lost Alicia's CD copy, but Mikey told her he did it to cover for me. I swear, I'll never hear the end of it if she finds out it was me. She's sweet but she can be sort of ruthless."

I smiled. "Same with Ryan, only he's not a chick and he's just plain fucking annoying."

Ryan came out of the back room right then, holding a stack of CDs. "I heard my name. Hey, dude," he said to Gerard. "Is this asshole spreading lies about me again?"

Gerard gave an unsure, nervous sounding laugh, looking at his feet.

Ryan glanced at the clock hanging above the door in the front of the store, carrying his stack of CDs to the front table and sitting them there. "It's almost lunch," he observed, looking over at Gerard. "We can close up early, wanna' tag along?"

He faltered, lips parting like he wanted to say yes but wasn't sure.

"It'll only be an hour," I told him. "We won't keep you too long."

His pallor fingers pushed dark hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. "I guess an hour won't hurt."

"Cool," Ryan said, coming back across the room. "I was thinking King's? Best burgers in all of Jersey."

"They make a mean salad," I added. "And their veggie burgers are to die for."

Gerard nodded. "Sounds good to me."

I leaned my guitar against the wall behind the counter. "It's about a ten minute walk. Or we could take Ryan's car."

Gerard shrugged. "I don't mind walking."

"Good, because Ryan won't let me smoke in his car."

Ryan rolled his eyes, grabbing the leather jacket draped over his stool, sending me a glare as he handed me the hoodie that had been folded up on the counter. "You need to stop that, it's gonna' kill you."

"What, smoking?" I tugged the hoodie over my head, realizing that Ryan had traded our outerwear. "That's the point. And that's my jacket, asshole." Ryan just looked at me, so I smiled, tight-lipped. "Excuse me- that's the point,  _sweetheart,_  and that's my jacket, asshole."

"Don't talk about you dying," he said, walking by and planting a kiss against the side of my head as he passed. He pressed something into my hand beneath the counter, out of view from Gerard. "You know how bad that scares me."

"Sorry that my life doesn't revolve around you," I said, rolling my eyes. He'd passed me the hand sanitizer from my jacket and I wanted to say thank you as I slipped it into the hoodie pocket, but I hoped my fingers brushing sorry against his wrist communicated it, instead.

Ryan walked towards the door, glancing back at me. I tried not to look too guilty when I opened my pack of Marlboros. I knew he hated when I talked about morbid shit involving me and smoking in the same sentence, but who could blame me? Smoking was suicide, anyway, might as well admit it.

Gerard looked at me as the door shut behind Ryan.

"Sorry," I said, straightening Ryan's hoodie on my body. Gerard's eyes were sort of green but sort of brown and they stared right at me as I grabbed my black gloves off of the counter and slipped them onto my hands. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

Gerard shrugged, turning his gaze to his feet. "It's okay."

I avoided looking at him the best I could as we walked out of the store and as I flipped the store's sign to "closed," shutting and locking the door behind us.

"Smoke?" I offered, tilting my cigarettes in his direction.

"Sure," he said, so I passed him a cig and my red lighter. His hands moved the same way they had the day before, cigarette in his mouth, one hand on the lighter and the other curving to keep away any wind.

It was the exact same pattern and it was so intriguing, because shit, I liked patterns, and attractive boys looked pretty damn good while being a part of them.

I think Ryan noticed me watching so I sent him a warning glare as Gerard passed my lighter back and I lit my cigarette.

"So you're pretty good friends with Alicia and Frances, huh?" I asked Gerard as the three of us started walking.

Gerard nodded, his cigarette between two fingers. "Frances and I go way back, and when Alicia started dating my brother we cemented a friendship."

Ryan was to my left- my leather jacket fit well on his shoulders. He looked like he belonged there with his hands tucked into his jean pockets, his ridiculous hippie-douche-bag headband screwing up his hair. He was looking away from me, though, like ignoring us was his way of trying to get me to strike up conversation with Gerard.

I moved my cigarette away from my face and breathed out a trail of smoke, watching the wind push it in Ryan's direction. He didn't seem to mind, though, I think he had gotten used to my second hand smoke. Sometimes it even seemed like he enjoyed it, he told me once about how smoke always made him think of me.

"So, Gerard," I said, looking at him. He was walking on my right side at what should've been a completely respectful distance, but it felt way too  _close._  That was something I'd noticed about him, he seemed to stand way too close to everyone and everything, all the fucking time. "How old are you?"

He flicked his cigarette with his thumb, ashes sprinkling to the ground like dust falling from a ceiling. "Seventeen."

It was hard to believe he was older than me because his round cheeks made him look so young, but I guess it was endearing.

"How long have you been seventeen?"

He looked up at the sky, his lips curving downward around his cig, looking like he was crunching numbers in his head. "It's  September so, like, five months."

"Damn," I said.

He raised his eyebrows.

"I won't be seventeen until next month," I explained. "Halloween."

"Oh," he said. "Well, then, happy early birthday."

"Thanks," I said back, nodding and watching my feet move over the cracked sidewalk beneath us.

The air outside was cold, it was autumn and it was beautiful. All the leaves were changing color and the air was crisp and fresh and-

"Do you think it'll snow soon?" Gerard asked.

"I don't know. I hope it does."

Gerard was quiet when he spoke. "I've never seen snow before."

Ryan turned his head faster than I'd ever seen him react to  _anything._  "You live in  _Jersey_  and you've never seen  _snow_?"

Gerard shrugged, cheeks tinging pink with embarrassment. "I haven't been here all my life, y'know. And we have a lot of family in California, so we normally go there over winter break. This is the first year we're not doing that."

"But we get snow even when it's not winter break," Ryan protested.

Gerard just shrugged. "I've never seen it."

"That's impossible," I said, shaking my head. "Completely impossible. How long have you lived in Jersey?"

"I was born here but I've lived in Cali all my life up until two years ago. In, like, the desert-type areas. So, yeah."

"Two years in Jersey and you've never seen snow." Ryan sounded like he was trying not to laugh. "Damn, you're in for a surprise."

"I've seen pictures of it," Gerard said, still looking embarrassed. "But I've never seen it in person or anything. I've never touched it."

"You're either gonna' love it or hate it," I told him. "There's no in-between."

His eyes focused on me, his cigarette touching his lips just long enough for him to breathe in some of the smoke. "What about you, then?" he asked. "Do you love it or hate it?"

"I hate it," Ryan announced, and I sort of wanted to punch him because he wasn't whom Gerard had asked. "It's mushy and gross."

Gerard sort of ignored him and that made me way happier than it should have.

"I love it," I told him sincerely. "Fall is my favorite season but I adore winter, too, because of the snow. It's pretty and white, and it's so clean looking. It's amazing."

Gerard nodded. "It sounds lovely."

Gerard and I had to drop and crush our cigarettes when we got to the restaurant.

King's was a cute, 50's-style burger place where a few of mine and Ryan's friends worked. The building was small, a rectangle shape with the kitchen and counter on the far end. The floors consisted of black and white tiles, and the booths were red, and there was always good music playing. You couldn't request anything, but you didn't need to when Elvis and Bowie played back to back.

"Damn," was all Gerard said as we walked in. "Elton John."

"Fuckin' great, isn't it?" I said, grinning over at him as we followed Ryan up to the counter.

Ryan looked at us. "What do you guys want? Lunch is on me."

"I get the same thing every time," I pointed out, tugging my gloves off of my hands and shoving them in my pocket. "Veggie burger and a diet coke."

Ryan looked at Gerard, who was looking at the menu with his ever-wide eyes. "Uh, veggie burger for me too, I guess." He scratched the back of his head and I almost laughed because he was tapping his foot to 'I'm Going to be a Teenage Idol' and seemed more interested in the music than the food options. "And a Dr. Pepper."

Ryan nodded. "Cool. You guys go find a table, I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Okay," Gerard said. "Thanks. I owe you."

Gerard and I found the closest booth and he looked around, his fingers tapping on the table. "I can't believe I've never been here," he said. "This place seems great."

"It's pretty neat," I agreed. "Good music and veggie burgers are always a nice combination."

"Yeah, that's true."

He was sitting across from me and his fingers were pale and smooth, and  _damn,_  I shouldn't have been curious about the way I could see his veins through the pale skin of his wrists, but it was intriguing.

"Do you know Brendon Urie?" I asked, watching him stare at a random point across the room, his head turned slightly to the right. "He works here."

Gerard paused for a moment, pink lips parted like he was unsure of his answer. "I think so." Gerard had long eyelashes and they touched the top of his cheeks when he blinked. "Is he in chorus?"

"Yeah, head of the class right next to Patrick Stump. Both of those guys have killer vocals. Are you in that class?"

Gerard nodded. "Yeah, but I don't think I have the same period as them. Do you know- oh, god, who's in that class? Some chick with orange hair named Hayley. And Gabe-something, but I can never remember his last name. Oh, and Jimmy and Chantal, they're both sweet kids. Jimmy can get a bit eccentric, though. Sort of a class clown."

I grinned. "Jimmy is in my history class. He's motherfucking crazy."

Gerard smiled and I think that was the first time I'd ever seen him with a real smile. "Totally. He lit Chantal's backyard on fire once. I don't know why she's still dating him."

"Fucking seriously?" I laughed. I couldn't decide which had me smiling more, the fact that Jimmy was completely fucking insane, or the fact that Gerard had the cutest fucking smile, all pink lips and tiny teeth.

"Seriously. At least you weren't there for it. He tried to piss on it to put it out."

I pretty much choked on my own spit. "He tried to piss on it?"

Gerard was giggling, then, and fucking hell, that was cute. A boy who  _giggled._  Someone should have called a fucking ambulance before my heart gave out. "Yeah, but trust me, it didn't work. Chantal ended up being the only one with enough sense to call nine-one-one."

I laughed about it and he looked at his hands, his face still graced with a ghost of his smile. The pale boy's cheeks flushed pink, like telling a funny story was something to be shy about.

Ryan walked up to the table, then, and slid a tray of food onto the table, glancing between us with his eyebrows raised. "Did I miss something?"

"You know that fucktard Jimmy?" I asked, still smiling.

Ryan sat next to me, tilting his head and thinking about it. "He's dating that blonde chick, Chantal, right?"

"Yeah, that dude. Did you know he caught Chantal's backyard on fire and then tried to piss to put it out?" Ryan burst out laughing and I grinned at him. His jaw looked really sweet from that angle and if it had just been the two of us I probably would've kissed it. "Gerard fucking witnessed it, too."

"Oh my god, he's fucking insane," Ryan laughed.

"Tell me about it," Gerard said. He was removing his veggie burger and drink from the tray, so Ryan and I followed his example. "He shaved Alicia's cat once."

Ryan's eyes widened. "Why the fuck?"

"He got bored," Gerard said, still sort of smiling but still totally blushing. I think he liked making us laugh, but I also got the vibe he was totally shy about this stuff. "We were all hanging out at Alicia's place and she walked out of the room for, like, ten minutes to get popcorn, and before anyone could stop him the cat was practically hairless."

"He's crazy," Ryan said, like it was a sudden realization. "How does anyone even hang out with him?"

Gerard shrugged, taking a small bite of his veggie burger, testing it out. "I dunno," he said, after a pause for chewing. "But he's super entertaining. And he's, like, some sort of evil genius. I probably would've never realized that if it weren't for Chantal."

"You're friends with her?" Ryan asked, taking a sip from whatever he'd gotten to drink. He sat it back down on the table and I reached over to try it, cringing when I realized it was unsweetened tea. Who the fuck drank that? It tasted like dirty water.

"Yeah," Gerard said. His eyebrows pulled together like he was wondering if that was a bad thing. "Why?"

Ryan shook his head to ward off any bad feelings, shrugging. "Just asking. I wouldn't really pin her as someone you'd hang out with, is all."

Gerard shrugged, too. He took his scarf off and I'm pretty sure his neck was paler than his hands were, if that was even possible. "Honestly I didn't think I'd ever be friends with her or Jimmy, either, but they're friends with Frances and Alicia so it worked itself out in a weird sort of way. We're all pretty tight. Them and me and my little brother and a few other people here and there." He paused, sucking Dr. Pepper through a straw. "What about you guys? Who do you hang out with?"

"Honestly, each other, for the most part," Ryan said, brown eyes were honest. "I mean, we're friends with other people but we've known each other since we were three. We grew up practically living in each other's houses."

"We're friends with Patrick Stump," I added. "And his boyfriend Pete."

Ryan nodded at the kitchen of the small the restaurant. "And I'm really good friends with Brendon."

"We know a lot of people," I said, shrugging. "We just don't hang out with them as often as we do each other. Like, I talk to Frances a lot in class, but we never talk about anything except for music and politics."

Gerard nodded. "That's sort of how it is with people besides Jimmy and them. I talk to a lot of people, but I'm not best friends with them or anything."

We fell into a nice pattern of conversation after that, talking about people we knew and school and teachers, and somehow the conversation got turned to home life.

"It's just me and my mom and Mikey," Gerard admitted, chewing thoughtfully on a fry. "And my cat, Imp."

"It's me and my parents," I said, looking down at the table. "But they, uh- they argue a lot and stuff, y'know?"

Ryan was frowning. "I feel bad that I'm the only one with, like, the happily married parents thing still happening."

"Don't," I told him. "Your parents are great. Appreciate them while you have them."

"I just wish my grandma didn't have to live with us. I mean, I love her and all, but old people can get fucking annoying sometimes, y'know?"

"Yeah," I agreed.

Something seemed off about Gerard as soon as Ryan mentioned his grandma. I couldn't decide exactly what it was, maybe he was sitting a little taller or his eyebrows had shifted downwards, maybe his fingers had frozen for a split second, I don't know, but he looked uncomfortable so I switched the subject.

"Our lunch hour is almost up," I told Ryan. "Your dad is gonna be so mad if he finds out we didn't re-open the shop on time. Get out of the booth so I can go piss."

Ryan rolled his eyes as he slid out of the booth because he knew I didn't actually have to piss, I just needed to wash my hands. "Hurry back," he said, kissing my cheek as I walked by.

I adored the restroom at King's because they had the type of automatic sinks and paper towel dispensers where you didn't have to touch anything except for the soap. I washed my hands once, and then twice because I didn't do it well enough the first time, and when I came out of the bathroom I raised my eyebrows at Ryan. Gerard had disappeared from the table.

"Smoking," he explained. I nodded, standing at the end of Ryan's side of the booth. "He asked if we were dating."

I felt my eyebrows arch more, without me wanting them to. "You say that like it's never happened before."

He shrugged, standing up. "I made it clear that you're single. I'm telling you, you two should hook up."

I glanced over at the door to make sure Gerard hadn't walked in as Ryan said that. "Fuck you," was all I could think to respond with.

"No," he said. "Fuck _Gerard._ "

I rolled my eyes. "I don't do 'hook ups,' and I've already told you, I don't want him like that. We don't even know if he swings that way or not."

"But you find him attractive," Ryan deadpanned.

I shrugged. "I think he's pretty, yeah."

"Pretty?"

I looked at my feet, wanting to leave. I could be out there smoking with Gerard, but no, I was here talking to my best friend about him, instead. "Dudes can be pretty."

"I've never heard you call a boy pretty before now. That has to mean something."

"I think  _you're_  pretty, but that doesn't mean anything."

Ryan walked towards the door. "You've kissed me, though, so it does."

"We were fourteen and it was a mutual thing, asshole," I said, following him.

"Still. I'm the only person you can touch without having to wipe invisible germs off afterwards." I stopped walking because yeah, that was low. He looked over his shoulder at me and rolled his eyes. "You know what I meant, Frank."

I just sighed and followed him out of the restaurant; the topic dropped so fast I could practically feel it fall away.

Gerard looked up as we approached him. The front outside wall of the place was brick and he was leaning against it, cigarette between his lips and his hands in his pockets.

Ryan looked at me as I looked at Gerard, and I hoped that Ryan didn't notice how I never took my eyes off of the pale boy as I lit my own cigarette, walking over and leaning against the brick next to him. I pressed my shoulder against the wall, my body facing his as I said a simple, "Hey."

Gerard looked back at me with those wide eyes of his. "Hey," he mumbled around his unlit cigarette.

I raised my eyebrows. "Smoking an invisible flame?" I asked.

He looked at his feet and sort of smiled, removing the cigarette from his mouth with three fingers. "I lost my lighter, like, a week ago, I was hoping maybe I could borrow yours again."

I held my red lighter out to him and his fingers touched mine.

As soon as his hand pulled away, I had my hand sanitizer out.

I could almost feel how he was staring at me as I cleaned my fingers, and I wanted to disappear, or maybe burst into flames.

"Why do you always do that?" he asked.

I glanced over my shoulder at Ryan, who was standing there screwing around on his cellphone, waiting for us.

"Do what?" I asked once my hands were as clean as I felt I could get them, moving my cig away from my mouth with two fingers and pretending I didn't know what he was talking about.

He just looked at me.

"Okay, I have a thing about germs," I admitted, looking at my cigarette instead of him. "Don't take it personally."

Ryan chose that brilliant moment to walk up and touch my wrist and Gerard was looking at us like he didn't believe me.

"Ryan and I have known each other since we were kids," I told him, sighing. "He's- he's the only person I don't get scared about touching, besides, like, my parents. I've known him for so long that he was there with me before the fear completely developed, so I guess in my mind he's, y'know. Clean."

Ryan glanced between us and said to Gerard, "Ah, did he tell you he has a total germ phobia?"

I glared at him. "It's not a phobia. I just don't like the idea of getting sick."

"Yes," Ryan said. "That's why you can't leave the house without gloves on. Because you'll get sick."

I moved my wrist away from his hand. "I will shove this cigarette so far up your ass-"

"Kinky," was all he could say, and I felt like punching him.

Ryan looked at Gerard, smiling. "He's thinking about hitting me, now. He's extremely abusive."

I thumped him on the shoulder. "I'm not abusive, you're just a dumbass."

"See?" Ryan said, rubbing dramatically at where I'd thumped his arm. "Physically and emotionally abusive. I would run while you can before he starts calling you a dork and flicking your forehead."

I rolled my eyes at Ryan but thankfully Gerard was smiling, amused by our bickering.

"You're like an old married couple," he said.

I laughed so hard I snorted. "Me, married to Ryan? Not in a million years."

Ryan pretended to be offended, putting his hand over his heart. "Ouch, Frankie, that stung."

"Maybe if you had a better ass," I said, flicking ashes in his direction. 

"Oh, like you're one to talk," Ryan smiled. "You have the flattest butt. Don't even deny it."

I winked at him. "You love my butt."

"It's flat as a fucking wall," he said defiantly. I blew smoke at him and he turned his head, making a face. "Ew, smoker's breath."

I looked at Gerard. "See the stupidity I have to put up with? He's a complete idiot."

Gerard just smiled, all tiny teeth and round cheeks and sort of completely fucking adorable.

"You guys are cute, it's hard to believe you're not a couple."

I shrugged, trying super hard not to roll my eyes. "We tried once," I said, looking at Ryan. "When was that, like, almost a year ago?"

Ryan nodded, looking cute with his boyish jawline. He looped his arm through mine, the shape of his elbow familiar. "Yeah. 'Cause remember, we lasted from, like, your birthday to Christmas."

I nodded, looking back at Gerard. "I mean, it worked out pretty well, but it just wasn't for us. Ryan and I make great friends and we found out we could make a great couple, too, but there's plenty of other people we'd rather date so we keep it strictly platonic."

"Is dating hard?" Gerard asked, his cigarette close to his mouth. He was still leaning against the brick wall and he'd put his scarf back on- his cigarette was balanced in the crook between his fore and middle fingers. "I mean, with your thing about germs?"

"Yeah, a lot of people don't get it. They think that I think they're dirty."

Ryan gave me a look, wearing his 'duh' face. "That's because you do."

I shook my head. "But they take it way too personally. I don't have anything against them in particular, it's literally the entire world that scares me. And a lot of people I've tried to date get pissed off because I can touch Ryan but I can't touch them." I sighed. "They get offended and either claim I'm cheating on them or must not like them that much. But really I just have-" I cut myself off before I could say 'OCD.' I didn't like admitting that I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It made me feel like something in my head was broken. "I just have a thing about germs. I mean, it's not even like I'm completely okay with Ryan. I have days when I can't even stand to borrow his jacket."

Gerard didn't say anything, he stood there and smoked for a minute, looking at Ryan and I.

"You don't look seventeen," I told him. He'd sucked in on his cigarette and the hollow of his cheeks made me realize that he only looked close to an adult when he was smoking.

He half-smiled. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

I half-smiled back. "Yeah, I think so."

Ryan pressed his elbow against my side. "We've got to get back to the store, man."

I nodded, dropping my cigarette and crunching it beneath my shoe, looking at Gerard. "You coming with us?"

He pressed his cigarette against his lips one last time and then dropped it, putting it out with his shoe, the same way I had. "Yeah, sure. I haven't heard you play guitar yet. I was promised Pantera, remember?"

I grinned as he fell in step next to me, the inside of Ryan's elbow still snug against the crook of mine. "Yeah, I remember."

The three of us chatted on the walk back, and it was nice. Gerard was sort of weird, though, when it came to conversation. He asked a lot of personal things, things you normally wouldn't ask a near-stranger. It was like he didn't quite know when to stop. It didn't go too far, of course, but we got everything from, "So, Ryan, why does your grandma live with you?" (to which the answer was a boring, 'she's old and lonely,') to "Are either of you religious?"

"I've never believed in God, no," I said.

"It all seems ridiculous to me," Ryan agreed.

Gerard nodded. He had his hands in his back pockets and I didn't want to admit it, but it was nice to have an excuse for checking out his ass when he moved his hands back there. I half expected Ryan to call me out on it, because he always tended to do that- if I did a double take at a guy I just about never heard the end of it. I couldn't go five minutes at school without hearing something about,  _"Were you just checking out Brian Schechter's ass? Oh my god, you so were. You totally want to fuck him, don't you?"_  But luckily, Ryan either didn't notice or had decided not to humiliate me in public today.

"What about you?" I asked. "Do you believe in God and all that-" I barely caught myself before I could call it shit; "Stuff?"

Gerard shrugged. His flannel shirt was halfway tucked in and it was both the cutest damn thing I'd ever seen and motherfucking hot. "I don't believe in angels and stuff. I don't know if I believe in God or not, I don't think I do. But I guess I do believe in, like, an afterlife, in some form."

Ryan's eyebrows went up. "Afterlife? Like, heaven and hell?"

Gerard watched his feet move across the pavement. "Like, ghosts, I guess. I dunno."

He got quiet so we dropped the subject.

Ghosts, huh? I'd never been one for paranormal stuff. It both totally creeped me out and seemed ridiculous. But I was also a firm believer in the fact that if I died anytime soon, I totally wanted to come back and stir up spooky shit.

We walked in a semi-comfortable silence the rest of the way back to the store, and when we got there Ryan started to walk inside, so I let his arm slip away from mine.

He raised his eyebrows, blinking. "You're not leaving work early today, jackass."

"Yeah, I'm gonna' smoke, asshole."

"How many have you smoked today?"

"This'll only be, like, my fourth," I said, slipping my sixth cigarette of the day out of the pack and offering one to Gerard. His pale fingers skillfully slid one out, fiddling with it impatiently as I fished my lighter out of my pocket.

"I know I've seen you smoke more than four. You're gonna kill yourself," Ryan said, watching me flick on the lighter.

"That's the point," I mumbled around the cigarette as I held the flame up to the tip, waiting for the fire to catch before passing off the lighter to Gerard. His hand touched mine and my entire chest clenched up.

Ryan just looked at me. He had the door to the store open but he wasn't going in.

I went through my hand-cleaning routine and Gerard stood, patient, playing with the lighter and flicking it on-and-off-and-on-again. I scrubbed at my hand until I felt sufficiently clean, and then Gerard dropped the lighter into my palm so our fingers wouldn't have to touch.

"I don't know why people put up with your germ-phobia shit," Ryan said, turning to enter the store. "It's fucking annoying."

I stared at Ryan as the door swung behind him. "Fuck you too," I hollered just before it shut.

Gerard was frowning.

"He's such a dick," I said, shaking my head.

"You shouldn't let him treat you like that."

I shrugged, feeling mega-pissed off but not wanting to take it out on Gerard. This was none of his business and if I was going to punch anyone or anything, I didn't want it to be him. "It's how we work," I said, like that explained it.

"Well, it's a shitty way to work."

I didn't answer and I guess he got the message because he shut up after that.

Ryan and I were fucked up, we both knew. We got way too angry at each other way too fast and said a lot of hurtful things that sometimes didn't even make sense in the argument, but something kept us coming back to each other. Sometimes I wondered if it was only because I craved intimacy, and because Ryan was the closest I could get to ever having a physical relationship.

Did it make him feel important, knowing he still held power over me? Maybe we were only still friends because we'd become codependent. I needed his hands to feel normal and he needed me to come crawling back to him, because he liked the way it made him feel on the inside.

Or maybe we made each other happy. Maybe I was wrong and we actually were best friends just because we got along. The nights spent curled up on his couch watching the concerts we couldn't afford to attend on YouTube felt like they meant something, the days in his backyard when he sat on my lap and watched me smoke were important to me- and hopefully to him, too.

Ryan's hands touching my hair and my fingers on his collarbone in the middle of the night when I slept over at his place had to mean something to both of us, didn't it? Sometimes his smile felt like the only thing worth living for.

Gerard and I smoked in silence, but I caught myself looking at him a lot.

I knew a lot of attractive dudes, yeah, but it wasn't often that there was one who smoked that was actually willing to speak to me. I'd never had too many friends that I could smoke with. Ryan stood with me a lot, sometimes he even rested his head on my shoulder and breathed second hand smoke, but he'd never accepted a cigarette when offered.

"Do you wanna' come inside?" I asked Gerard, and it felt like asking a guy into your house after a first date.

"Yeah. You still owe me Pantera," he reminded me, smoke trailing from between his lips.

And okay, yeah, that was kind of hot, combined with my simile about boys and houses and first dates.

He tapped his cigarette lightly, watching the ashes fall. "Is that what snow looks like?"

I did the same to my cigarette to get a better view. "Yeah, sort of. Except snow falls in huge flakes sometimes. Also, snow is cold as fuck and it's wet and gets mushy after a while. But it's pretty, so it's worth it."

"Cigarette ashes are pretty, too," Gerard pointed out, bringing his pre-rolled stick of suicide up to his lips.

"Yeah," I said, considering, looking at the cig in my hand. "Once you've smoked a cigarette you've seen it all, I guess."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Smokes are just sickness that can be sold." I pressed my lips against my cancer and grinned at the pale boy standing next to me. "The ashes look like snow but they burn fire. It makes no fucking sense so that's what makes it perfect."

Gerard was looking at me and I felt so proud when he said, "Damn, I like the way you think."

I beamed at him. "Thanks, man. I guess I just have a thing for metaphors."

He smiled back and it made me feel giddy how this time it was me who had put the happy on his lips.

"So I'm not gonna' get out of this playing Pantera for you thing?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but I'd love to hear it."

And of course anything he loved must be worth while, right?

 

\---

 

"Goddammit," I said, after the fiftieth out-of-tune note. I'd played him four songs so far and had managed to fuck up every one. "I'm sorry, I'm just so nervous. I don't play for people too often."

Gerard was sitting on the floor next to me, legs crossed, leaning against the record store wall. I had my back against the wall, too, and every time he shifted to look at me better, my fingers screwed up on the strings.

"It's okay," Gerard said. "I think you're doing great."

Ryan was sitting on his stool behind the counter. Me and my cigarettes had pissed him off pretty bad. I knew he hated that I was addicted to something, but I never did anything about it except for blow smoke in his face and talk about how nice it felt to know I would die sooner with the nicotine smog in my lungs. I guess I'd just smoked one too many cigs in front of him today, and instead of trying to talk to me about it, he was being a total bitch.

"We're having fried okra at dinner tonight," he told me from across the room when I stopped playing guitar, because he knew I hated fried okra.

I shrugged it off and nodded. "That's okay. Your mom knows I don't like it, she probably made me extra mac and cheese, or something."

Ryan looked like he wanted to punch me.

Gerard took that as an excuse to stand up so I followed the example, leaning my guitar against the wall.

"I should go," he said, looking at me.

I smiled. "It's been nice hanging out with you, man," I said, and I felt way too formal when I spoke, like I should be shaking his hand or something. "Give me some time to practice, I'm not used to having an audience."

"Can I still sit with you at lunch tomorrow?" Gerard asked, like I would have changed my mind about inviting him.

"Of course. I'm even more sure now than I was before."

And that was enough to put one of those awkward little half-smiles on his face as he said goodbye to Ryan and left the store.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Ryan said, "Why did you lie to me about how much you've smoked today?"

I shrugged, crossing the room. It was weird without some form of music playing in the shop, but there was a stack of flyers on the front left table so I decided to make myself useful and straighten up the pile.

"You know how bad it pisses me off when you lie to me," he said, and for some reason, I didn't fucking care.

"Frank, are you listening to me? Fuck, are you-" He broke off mid-sentence with a pissed-off sounding noise. "Stop ignoring me."

My back was facing him but I heard every step of his feet as he crossed the room to get to me.

"Frank," he said, a few feet away. "Look, I don't mean to be an ass. And I'm sorry for earlier, with the germ thing. That was totally out of line. You know I'm just worried about your health."

I rolled my eyes. "I know, I know- you don't like that I smoke. But you need to get the fuck over it. They're my lungs, not yours."

"That doesn't mean I'm not allowed to worry about you, though."

"I don't want you to worry about me," I said, facing him. "I knew what I was getting into when I started smoking. I totally understand that I'm gonna' have trouble walking up stairs for the rest of my life, I know I'm gonna' be coughing for the next eighty years. But, dude. No amount of your 'save-the-Frankie' shit can change my mind."

He blinked, the corners of his lips pulling up, my smile mirroring his. "Save-the-Frankie," he repeated.

I shrugged. "Save-the-banana-slug, save-the-Frankie. Y'know."

Ryan giggled and I laughed, tension in the air slipping away. "I'm gonna' have posters made," he said. "Maybe Gerard will buy a shirt."

I snorted. "Start a fucking campaign, man. Save-the-Frank, he needs food and records. Maybe Frances will donate."

Ryan shoved lightly at my shoulder with the palm of his hand. "Maybe my dad will give you a raise."

"Hey, hey," I said, pushing back. "That's not a bad idea."

He rolled his eyes, walking over to a row of records and flipping through them. "I doubt it, dude. I'm his son and I still get paid minimum wage."

"We need real jobs," I said, looking around the shop. A Rolling Stones poster caught my eye. "Like, Ryan, seriously. We need to start a band."

"Yeah," he said, glancing over his shoulder at me. "Because that's a 'real job.'"

I walked over to the other side of the cart, sorting through the other end of the row. "Legit! You can sing and I'll play guitar."

"Oh, no." His eyebrows pulled inward as he shook his head. "Fuck that. Reverse the roles, or something. I can't sing worth shit."

"Dude-" I stared at him. "Dude, you're fucking stupid. You know I love your voice."

"Yeah,  _you_  do. But you grew up listening to me sing in the shower. Your ears have adapted to handling the pain."

I laughed and let it slide.


	3. "Like an avalanche."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, readers! Sorry this took so long. It's been exactly a month and a day since the last update and I'm super sorry for that, but life has been weird as heck recently. I had my first meeting with a psychiatrist (which was scary as hell,) I went to Washington D.C. for a week, and I've done a lot of strange moving back and forth between houses.   
> There's not much otherwise to say here except, like always, if you spot a typo or an awkwardly worded sentence, PLEASE, point it out! I do my best to edit but sometimes I miss things, and I want to make this story as good as possible for you all.  
> And, like last chapter, if you have a ghost (or just generally creepy/unsettling) story that has happened to you or a friend, please do share it if you haven't already! I'm collecting research for the rest of TGR and every bit you guys share with me is helpful.
> 
> Thanks so much, everyone! Sorry again for the wait, I hope you enjoy!

School sucks. And not in the cool, like, blowjob type of way. It sucks in the vacuum type of way, draining innocent children and already hopeless teens of their souls. It's based on biased opinions and doesn't even teach important things, like how to survive a panic attack or what to do when you feel like killing yourself.

You never hear of English teachers giving gay kids books with gay main characters so that maybe- just maybe- they'll have something to connect to besides the offensive comments muttered in locker rooms. You never hear of science teachers teaching the chemistry behind crushes or first loves or why the hell cute people make you feel like you're dying. School teaches the shit that doesn't matter. It judges kids based on their ability to do the exact same thing as everyone else. Be original, they say, but don't stray too far from the land of conformity or you'll be bullied for it.

They want to "prepare us for the real world," right? No one fucking talks about the carbon cycle, in the real world, not unless they want to dedicate their life to science. No one discusses math theories in their time off, unless they're an architect.

Schools doesn't teach us what we want to know, only what they want us to know for the jobs that we don't wanna' do.

What's the point in teaching a kid who's in love with Hemingway an entire lecture about the second World War? That kid doesn't give a fuck. He never will. He just wants to write, so goddamn, why didn't he get into Creative Writing? Because there wasn't enough space in the classroom? Bullshit. That kid in the back of Creative Writing, he fucking loves learning about wars. His grandpa died overseas, he wants to honor that. But do the teachers care, do the principles make efforts to help kids follow their passions, like they say they do? Absolutely not. All they care about is if we pass their tests.

I hadn't paid attention to a single word my teacher had said during the past hour, and I wasn't planning on starting any time soon. There were only ten minutes left of class but my brain really did  _not_  wanna' focus on math. It wasn't that I hated my teacher, he had an okay personality and sometimes wore this really neat Carcass shirt on casual Fridays, but it pissed me off. The fact that I was being shoved in that shithole of a room, against my will, and was being taught mind-numbing information that I would never use? It fucking pissed me off.

Like, seriously? Math? I could add up how much change the guy at McDonalds owed me, I'd helped my mom pay the taxes before. That's all I needed to know, right? Food, taxes. Simple.

But, fuck. Fucking imaginary numbers? They were imaginary, couldn't we keep them that way?

I'd been doodling on my notebook for a while, a few stick figures with lamely captioned speech bubbles, but it was something besides math, so my brain felt slightly less tense.

I wanted to text Ryan but there was no angle I could hold my phone at that would successfully shield it from the teacher.

My stick figures did not feel like good company.

 _"I'm a dumbass,"_ one of them proudly declared as he dived into a shark-infested algebra equation.

 _"I want to die!"_  said another, happily, as he plummeted to the bottom of my graph paper.

I sighed and turned my focus back to the worksheet on my desk. What was it that I was supposed to be doing? Math? Right, math. Focus, Frank. You're gonna' have homework on this shit.

Oh, shit, oh. Homework. Home. Did dad go to work that morning, or was today the day he was fixing the Ross family roof? Working at a paint store and being a "handy-man" was so lame, I didn't want to end up like that.

I drew a stick figure impelling himself with a paintbrush.

"Political statement or an artistic metaphor?"

I looked up, raising my eyebrows and glancing around. The door to the classroom was open and the teacher was outside, yelling at some classmate of mine. I think it was Jack Barakat. He cracked a lot of dirty jokes, he was pretty cool.

"Huh?" I said, sounding like a total genius.

The girl tapped my paper. "Stick figure with the paint brush."

My eyebrows kept themselves raised as I glanced between my doodles and her orange hair. I'd always sort of liked Hayley, in the sense that she had fucking neat hair and a killer wardrobe. I didn't know much about her other than the fact she was failing this class.

"Metaphor," I said. "But I guess it's political, too."

She smiled and bobbed her head in a weird, chicken-like sort of nod. "Nice." She smiled and I admired her freckles, across her cheeks and dripping down her nose. "That's really cool, Frank."

"Thanks, Hayley."

She was still looking at me, all weird-smiley-happy, and then she said, "I, uh- I was in the record store this weekend, I heard you playing guitar. You're really good, are you in a band?"

"No, I mean-" I rubbed my neck with my hand, wondering when, exactly, she'd heard me play guitar, and what I'd been playing. "I was, for a month or two. We were called Hybrid, it was pretty rad, but our drummer broke his wrist and we haven't tried again since he got better."

"Oh, that sucks, I bet you guys were awesome. But, hey, if you ever want to do a band-thing again, track me down, okay? We're looking for a guitarist, my cousin has been filling in for shows but we need someone to be there for every rehearsal."

I nodded, offering a weak smile. Just thinking about playing an actual show made me nauseous, like I was going to puke. "Uh, sure, yeah. I'll think about it."

She grinned and went back to doing the mind-numbing worksheet on her desk.

I looked down at my paper and tried to come up with reasons for her to be talking to me. She couldn't have been, like, hitting on me, could she? I smelt like cigarettes and looked completely unpresentable, my hoodie was a size too big and made my torso look like a giant, burnt, marshmallow-y shaped blob. Paired with jeans that were way too tight, it made me look top-heavy and like a total slob. Not to mention the faint scent of alcohol on my pants from that one time Ryan spilt, like, two entire beers on them.

I was a _total_  babe magnet, yeah, sure. She was definitely hitting on me, she wasn't just after my attempt at musical talent. Circle the sarcasm with a marker and underline that shit twice.

The teacher walked in, and Jack walked to his seat with his head hung low, looking ashamed, but he was snickering at his friend Alex so I knew it must've been one hell of a dirty joke.

"Well," the teacher said, sighing, looking around the room as the bell rung. "Pick up your homework on the way out. Test is Friday."

Everyone was out of the room before he could add more math nonsense. We all crammed sheets of paper into our bags, praying that something tore to the point of not having to do it.

"Fuck this," Brendon Urie said, falling in step next to me as we walked out of the classroom. "I hate school."

I rolled my eyes, fumbling to get my phone out of my back pocket. "You and everyone else, man."

Brendon was a weird guy. Not bad weird, but, like, somehow he'd been in a committed relationship for six months even though he was known around school for fucking girls and never calling back.

"How's Sarah?" I asked, shooting Ryan a text that said,  _'So ready to get out of here.'_

Brendon shrugged, hands in his back pockets. His backpack was hanging off one shoulder, reading glasses dangling from the collar of his white t-shirt like normal people would hang their sunglasses. Brendon emitted a confident vibe, he'd always been intimidating even though I knew he meant well.

"She's good," he said. "Still holding back with the sex thing, but good."

"Not every chick wants to fuck," I reminded him.

"Yeah," Brendon agreed, wrinkling his nose. "Sarah's different."

"You mean, like, in the sense she wants to be respected? Because, dude, that's actually a common thing." I side-stepped, dodging a kid who was sprinting through the hall like his life depended on it.

"Saporta," Brendon yelled over his shoulder. "Fuckin' hell, man?" Gabe was already gone, though. Brendon rolled his eyes. "I bet his schedule got screwed again. Poor kid has to run from the Art Hall all the way to the East Wing just to get to class on time."

"Why doesn't he just, y'know?" I said, as Brendon shoved the door open with one hand and let me walk by him, out into the courtyard.

"Why doesn't he take the courtyard shortcut?"

I nodded.

Brendon adjusted his backpack strap and my phone buzzed a staccato note.

"He's just an idiot, I guess." He tilted his head back, looking at the sky. It was gray and cold, the afternoon air damp with an impending storm. "Maybe he thought it was already raining. Hell, maybe it just stopped raining. It's  _always_  fucking raining."

Ryan had sent back  _'William's house, Friday night. Tell Urie. Vodka or Samuel Adams tonight? Getting votes for Bob,'_ and I seriously could have kissed him and Bob and everyone involved right then. I didn't really care, honestly, as long as alcohol was involved.

I just typed,  _'Yes,'_ and hit send.

"Yo, man," I said, looking up at Brendon and flashing my phone screen in his direction. He was at least three or four inches taller than me, but then again, everyone seemed to be taller than me, so whatever. "Beckett's place, Friday night. Us, Ryan, a few other people, I guess. I think Dallon'll be there. You still got the hots for him?"

Brendon laughed, as we approached the door to re-enter the school building, on the other side of the courtyard. I nodded shortly when he held the door open for me, a discreet type of 'thank you.' Brendon was always pretty nice about my germ phobia, I think he was always holding doors for me just because of that. "I dunno. I've got a girlfriend, man. I'm not allowed to think about dicks right now."

"Give Sarah a chance, seriously," I told him. "Y'never know. She might be, like," I moved my hand in the air in front of me, not sure what I was trying to express. "'The one,' or whatever."

"She might be," he agreed.

The cafeteria was loud and hit us like a wall as we walked in. Brendon swerved off to the left, waving over his shoulder, and I made my way to mine and Ryan's usual table. No one ever had assigned seats, in high school, but once you found a place you liked sitting, people got the hang of not messing with the natural order of things and settled into a pattern.

Ryan wasn't there yet, so I sat down with my bookbag in my lap and fumbled with my phone, trying not to look lonely. My brain felt like it was fluttering around in my head, I was thinking about math and about how fucking gross the cafeteria smelt and about Friday night and about if Gerard was still going to sit with us or not and-

I looked up from my phone and gazed around the room. I'd been nervous about lunch all day, but I hadn't even thought about the fact that he wouldn't know which table to go to.

There were still people coming into the cafeteria, most of them going straight for tables or finding friends, but I spotted a dark head of hair hunched over the stack of books in his arms, off to the side of the crowd.

I stood up and tried to catch his eye, half-waving when he finally looked at me. He stood a little straighter, then, and half-waved back, not lifting his hand too far away from his books.

Gerard started walking towards my table and that's when it felt like someone was shoving downward on my lungs, because there was a boy walking way too close to him and oh, shit, oh,  _fuck._  I don't even know why I was disappointed. 'Cause he was hot, I guess?

The hormonal part of my brain had been hoping that Gerard was single, there was no denying it. I'd totally been lying to myself and Ryan, when I said I just wanted to be Gerard's friend. He was fucking _hot._  Weird as hell, from what I could tell so far, but really fucking hot, and he was just so interesting.

But then as they got closer to the table I could hear the tall, lanky guy with glasses saying, "-and I swear to god, Mom is so going to kill us if she finds out we broke the coffee pot again," and realized that he must be Gerard's brother. I wanted to punch myself for being disappointed and I wanted to punch myself again for making assumptions.

"Hey," I said, as Gerard stood awkwardly across from me, at the other side of the table. His brother had already laid his binder on the cafeteria table, flipping through a folder.

The thin boy glanced up from behind his glasses, offering a one-handed wave. "You must be Frank," he said, before going back to digging through his papers. He looked really fucking exasperated, like he had twenty things on his mind, and his Night of the Living Dead shirt had coffee stains all over it. He looked like he'd had a rough day but I couldn't really blame him, considering I reeked of cigarettes and faintly of cheap beer.

"And you must be... Mikey, right?"

Mikey gave a short nod and then sighed, scooping up his binder and folder with the paper he'd been searching for on top. "Yeah. It's nice to meet you, kid. Gerard babbles a lot and he would _not_  shut up about this whole lunch thing today, I swear to god. I hate to run and just drop him on you like this, but I'm totally late turning in this essay. Rickly is going to kill me."

"Rickly's cool, man." Mikey talked about Gerard like he was a toddler being dropped off at daycare, so it was hard to believe that he was the younger of the two. "Tell him some punk kid started talking to you about Lovecraft. He'll know it's me and swing with it. I'm pretty sure I'm his favorite student."

Mikey laughed, nudging his glasses up on his nose. "Thanks, dude. Hopefully that'll get me off the hook. If Armstrong ever gives you shit in politics, tell him it's Mikey Way's fault."

I grinned, sticking my hands in my back pockets. Mikey was pretty fucking cool, for someone's little brother. "Will do, Mikey Way."

He nodded, flashing me a quick smile and patting Gerard's shoulder once, and then he disappeared somewhere into the cafeteria crowd.

I looked at Gerard, who was standing there gazing around the room with that weird fucking stare of his.

"Hey, man," I said, finally catching his attention. "You babbled, huh?"

His cheeks were pink, dark hair sticking to his neck. "I babble about a lot of stuff, yeah," he said.

I grinned. "Don't worry, I do too. Ryan almost choked me last night 'cause I was talking too much." And it was true, he nearly did. I'd rambled for at least half an hour about if I'd made a good decision by inviting Gerard to sit with us today.

I sat down, watched as he did the same, fumbling with all his books. He had at least two hardcovers and a couple of cheap-looking comics, not to mention his school binder.

"What'cha reading?" I asked, leaning as far over the table as I could. I didn't like admitting it, but I'd always been a bit of a bookworm. I even had, like, dumb reading glasses, and a favorite reading chair. Ryan teased me about it constantly, even though it was sort of obvious that he liked curling up with me and reading over my shoulder.

Gerard swallowed, Adam's apple rising and falling softly in his throat. His eyes were wide as ever, staring at his books. "Cujo and, uh." He scratched his nose and I wanted to puke because his nails were black- he just kept getting  _hotter._  "This comic my friend Grant is working on. The Invisibles."

"Cujo is good," I said, nodding. I had my hands between my knees, I was resisting the urge to flip through the novel and show him my favorite scene, but I didn't want to touch the book because there was no telling if it was his own or from a library, and I didn't want to look like a total book geek. "Is the comic good, too?"

"Yeah, it actually is," Gerard said, offering up the tiniest of smiles. He fidgeted around, shifting the books and his binder until he had one of the comics flat on the table, turned so I could see better. He looked really uncomfortable, glancing off to the side every so often, and I almost felt bad for pulling him out of his element and in to the mess that was our school's cafeteria... I knew I would have regretted it, though, if I hadn't.

The page of the comic he showed me was unfinished, with rough but  _really damn good_  sketches in all black and white. There were blank dialogue spaces here and there, but the pictures were almost enough to tell the story.

"It's a weird concept," Gerard said. "I don't even know if I can explain it, you'd have to ask Grant. But there's, like, this inter-dimensional group of alien gods? Who are enslaving the human race? And, like, Jack Frost is the next Buddha, and there's astral projection to the French Revolution."

I raised my eyebrows, looking up at him to see if he was being serious.

Gerard chewed at his black-painted nails, looking at the comic instead of me.

He was totally being serious.

"That's intense," I told him.

"Tell me about it," Gerard said, almost laughing. "He's got me drawing so many different characters, it's sort of overwhelming, and-"

"Wait, wait." I grinned, because  _holy hell._  "You drew all this?"

His eyes went wide, mouth falling open and closing again, unsure if he should admit to it or not, until he finally stuttered out, "I- I didn't mean-"

"Did you draw all this?" I repeated, because I knew he did. I slid the staple-bound comic book off of the table and towards me, flipping through the pages. Who cared about germs? This was art, this was worth it. Just like used books and old records. There was an undeniable need to touch things like that, an undeniable feeling of attraction to art that couldn't be stalled by germ phobias or OCD.

Gerard had a weird art style, he used a lot of sharp angles and thick lines, but I loved it already. It was so distinctive, something about it seemed to fit his personality. I was tempted to ask if he'd ever done, like, a self-portrait or something similar. I could totally picture him comic-style. He'd be part of the Watchmen, or one of the X-men. Like Angel, but with bat wings instead of feathers.

I had to chew at the inside of my lip to keep from thinking about that too much.

"I, well." He sighed. "Yeah, but I'm not, like, the final artist, or anything. He's got Clem Robins and Todd Klein doing all the final stuff- they're top of our art class, they can do way more realistic people, y'know? He just wanted me to help with costume and character design and stuff. Some setting work, nothing too major. I'm not doing any inking, it's all just pencil sketches and ideas."

I paused on one of the last pages of the comic. There was a slim woman holding a violin, her body curved up the inner side of the page. She was uncolored, with wide hips and the F-shaped holes of a violin curling on her sides. "Shit, Gerard, this is so good. I think she's my favorite so far."

"She's, uh. Actually not part of the comic. Grant'll kill me if he knew I was doodling in the margins again, so I should probably erase her..." His cheeks were tinted pink as he slid the book away from me, tucking it into his binder.

I crawled through the depths of the superhero-oriented part of my brain, trying to think where the violin girl might be from. "Is she from, like, a movie or something?"

He half-laughed, a nervous sound escaping his lips. "Original character, actually."

I smiled. I felt like I was going to implode, holy shit. Gerard seriously could not get any cooler or I would probably die. Or follow him around like a lost puppy. Or maybe both, and then I could be a ghost-puppy. Or a zombie-puppy. Fuck, a zombie-puppy would be cool. "Dude, that's fucking great. Are you writing your own comic?"

"I guess I'm trying, but it's kind of... Not there yet? I guess?" He looked indecisive, like he was trying to decide how much to tell me. "It's mostly ideas and a few lame sketches." He scratched the back of his head, fucking up his hair, but in a really good Eric-Draven-from-The-Crow type of way. "It's all just character designs, right now... Really loose plot-lines, y'know?"

"That's cool, though," I insisted. I may or may not have been bathing my hands and wrists in hand sanitizer beneath the table, because even though touching the comic had been for the sake of art, germs still existed. "Do you think you'll try to get it published, or something?"

"I, uh... Maybe?" His eyebrows pulled together, confused, like he hadn't considered it. "I don't even have a name for it yet, I mean, I draw a lot, it's not like- like it's for sure going to turn into an actual thing with a plot and stuff."

"If it does, I want to read it," I told him. "I'll be your biggest fan. First in line at all the signings, and all that shit. Seriously."

He laughed, looking down at his lap, face a pretty shade of sandstone-pink. "That's very kind of you, Frank."

I was glad Ryan wasn't there because I was absolutely staring, a dumb little smile on my face, and I knew he would've pointed it out before I had the chance to come up with an excuse.

But, I mean, could anyone blame me? I was sitting with a totally hot, total  _dweeb,_  and he was blushing like a sunset. How had I even denied that I liked him?

Gerard scratched the side of his nose, looking around the cafeteria with wide eyes. "I haven't been in here since I was a freshman," he admitted, changing the subject.

I looked around, too. The cafeteria was one of the few things about the school that I hated almost more than actual classes. Way too many people, way too close, stuffing their faces with unwashed hands... Gross.

"It's not that bad," I lied. "Crowded sometimes, but not bad."

"There's just never been a reason for me to be in here, I guess. All of my friends have different lunch periods than me, except Mikey, and I get enough of him at home."

"Well," I said, looking at him look at his hands. "I'm your friend, right?"

Gerard shrugged, nodding. He was chewing at his nails again. "Yeah."

"Then maybe you can start eating lunch in here, with me." And then I added, "And Ryan," because I didn't want to be obvious.

"Maybe." He shrugged again, looking around. "The voices in here are so loud, though."

I looked for Ryan, stretching my neck. If I caught his eye I was gonna' try to motion for him to buy me a cookie. "Yeah, it gets loud in here," I agreed. "Cafeterias are always loud."

I gave up my search for Ryan because I could see Gerard staring at me in my peripheral vision.

"What?" I asked, self-conscious.

He blinked, eyebrows scrunched together. "What?"

"What're you looking at?"

He blinked again, looking down at his binder. "You, I guess."

I grinned but I'm pretty sure I blushed, too.

"What're you so smiley about?" Ryan plopped down in the seat next to me, tossing a bag of chips into my lap. He knew I didn't eat meals at school because, y'know, germs, but he still liked to buy snacks for me sometimes.

I kissed his cheek, saying, "I'm smilin' at how sweet all my friends are."

He took a bite out of his apple, raising his eyebrows. "Sure, sure..."

"Thanks for the chips," I said, ignoring how suspicious he sounded, tugging the bag open and sitting it in my lap.

Ryan looked at Gerard. "How're you liking the change of scenery, man?"

Gerard had a brown paper bag with him, and he slid a container of cold noodles out of it. I crunched a chip, watching him poke at the ramen with a plastic fork, chewing on a few pieces thoughtfully.

"I guess the cafeteria is okay," he said, gazing around.

"Yeah," I agreed. He was awfully cute when he ate, taking small bites and chewing on his plastic fork between them. "It's okay."

"So, is this gonna' be a regular thing?" Ryan asked.

I looked at Gerard, shrugging.

He shrugged, too, sort of smiling and looking at me. "If you share those Doritos with me, sure."

I grinned, eating one last chip before passing him the bag. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Way."

He laughed, one side of his mouth pulling higher than the other. "I would've done it for free, man. You got so screwed."

And because my whole face felt warm and he was making me smile, and because okay, yeah, I was _totally_  crushing on him, I had to agree.

I was so screwed.

 

\---

 

"Ryan, I have a problem."

He looked up at me as I walked through the record store, I didn't even wave to Patrick but at the moment I honestly didn't care about being polite to my friends.

I'd been trying to think about anything, since lunch. Anything except for stupid Gerard and his stupid black nails and his stupid comic characters.

"What's up, man?"

I put my hands on the counter and leaned forward, lowering my voice so that Tracy Chapman on the record player drowned out mine. "You were right."

Ryan raised his eyebrows. "That doesn't sound like a problem to me."

Patrick was looking at us so I forced myself to half-wave, walking around the counter and grabbing Ryan's wrist, dragging him into the back room.

"You were right," I repeated.

"Still don't see the problem."

I shoved his shoulders, and he got serious, then, because when I made things physical he knew there wasn't any fucking around.

"You were right about  _Gerard,_ " I clarified.

Ryan grinned like the complete dick I knew he was. "You're crushing?"

"Like an avalanche," I said, and suddenly felt a lot less angry at him for being right and a lot more disappointed in myself.

He put his hand on my shoulder and walked me over to the couch, sitting down with me. The back room of Ross Records was small, square, and dark, and the red leather couch was an excellent place for moping about crushes and cute guys.

"Wanna' talk about it, or are you just gonna' hang out back here and make us put on The Misfits?"

"I don't know." I sighed, letting my head fall back against the wall. I stared at the ceiling, red-painted fan spinning angrily at us. "I barely even know him."

"A crush is a crush, dude."

I made a noise halfway between a sigh and a groan. "Fuck you."

He kissed behind my ear. "Name a time and a place, baby."

I rolled my eyes, swatting him away. He took my hands and tugged my gloves off, sighing because it wasn't even cold out. "Look, man, seriously. Cut the bullshit. Can we talk about it?"

Ryan nodded, forcing himself to stay serious. "We can talk about it."

I chewed at my bottom lip, watching him fold up my gloves. "I don't even know why I like him."

"Is it a 'he-makes-me-nervous' crush, or a 'let's-make-excuses-to-talk-to-him' crush?"

"Both." Ryan laid my gloves on the arm of the couch. "Like, I wanna' hang out with him but then face-to-face, like at lunch, I sort of felt like I was being stupid. And way too obvious."

Ryan nodded, considering that. "Physical or emotional?"

I shrugged. He asked the same set of questions every time he found out I liked someone, I'd already been thinking about my answers. "I dunno. I think he's really, like, hot and stuff, but he's... I don't know, Ryan. I'm really interested in him. And his stupid comics."

Ryan didn't say anything and I watched the angry red ceiling fan. I half-wished the fan could chop me into pieces and half-wished it would chop Ryan into pieces, because I knew what was coming next.

"This isn't going to be like Jamia, is it?"

I chewed at my lip, hard. That was a question that was normally easy as fuck to answer. Like when I had a two-week crush on James Dewees, I'd said no automatically. But this was different and I hoped to god or the devil or cupid or whom-fucking-ever was in charge of this stuff that this wasn't going to be like Jamia. "I don't know," I told him, honest.

"Maybe you should call her."

"I don't want to bother-"

"Call her," Ryan said, handing me his cell phone.

I sighed because he was already leaving the room and the phone was already ringing her, he had her on speed-dial because there was always the odd occasion when something happened that he didn't know how to handle, but knew Jamia could deal with.

"Ryan?"

I almost died at the sound of her voice, it'd been way too long since I'd last seen her. "Frank, actually."

There was a pause but when she spoke she sounded like she was glowing. "Hey, Frank."

I almost smiled. "Hey, Jamia." The almost-smile burnt out like a cigarette, and suddenly, I was craving just that. "Look, Ryan sort of forced me to call you, it's not that important but-"

"Frank." She paused, giving me a moment to realize how stupid that statement had been before she decided to vocalize it. "If anyone had to force you to talk to me, it's important."

I sighed, lying to myself. "Look, it's seriously nothing. Just this guy. I barely know him, though."

There was another pause, and then there was the familiar sound of her mattress shifting beneath her as she laid down, getting comfortable for what we both knew was going to be a harsh conversation. "And you like him, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah. And Ryan thinks- he thinks it'll be, like. Us."

"Us, us, or you guys, us?"

"Us, us," I clarified. "You and me."

She took a deep breath. "Frank."

"I mean, it's not like- I don't even  _know_  him, you have to listen to me. Ryan is insane. It's just a crush, I'm not going to try to start dating him, it's not going to get to that point. I'm not going to let it get that bad. I promise you."

"Frank..."

I closed my eyes, swallowing like there was something lodged in my throat. "Yeah, Jamia. I know."

 

\---

 

"Godammit, Bob, get your fucking cat off of me."

"Frank, watch your mouth, asshole, I'm on the phone with- shit! Sorry, mom. Sorry."

Ryan reached over the beer cooler and removed Bob's dumbass cat from my lap, making a meowing sound at it and scratching behind it's ear.

"Yeah, mom, I mowed the backyard- no, the flowers are fine."

Everyone looked at Bob, waiting for him to ask the question.

"Yeah, I know. Be home by eleven, school tomorrow."

"Wimp," Brendon muttered under his breath, from next to Ryan.

Bob flipped him off, nodding with his cellphone pressed against the side of his head. "Okay, yeah. But, uh- hey, can I go somewhere this weekend? The guys were all gonna' crash at the Beckett place..."

William chewed his lip, at that. His family was pretty well known around town, they owned an ice cream shop downtown that had done really well. Besides King's diner, it was the only place you could get a worth-while milkshake.

Bob grinned and gave us a thumbs-up, resulting in a few high-fives and quiet cheers.

"Cool, mom, thanks. Yeah, yeah! Okay. You too. Bye."

As soon as his phone was hung up, Pete Wentz yelled, "House party at Beckett's!" and I'm pretty sure everyone took a celebratory sip of beer right then. Parties at the Beckett place were fucking  _awesome._  Not big, or anything, but practically no one could remember what they said or did- or  _who_  they did, for that matter, if they were in to that type of stuff- the day after. It was all a blur of booze and punk music and best friends just being idiots together, and it was great. As far as I could remember, there had never been more than ten people there, but that never stopped us from having a good time. Sometimes friends, good music, (and cheap beer,) was all you needed to be happy.

"Hey, hey," William said, glancing around Bob's bedroom. "Everyone has to bring a date or a friend or something, okay? There's gonna' be a fuckton of food and we're not letting any of it go to waste."

Ryan rolled eyes. "That's easy for you, asshole. Chicks crawl all over you."

He snorted. "Yeah but I couldn't get dick to save my life, you know that."

"Just go with Frank," Brendon said, bumping his shoulder against Ryan's. They were sitting close to me, leaning against the wall together. We all had favorite spots in each other's rooms, it was weird. In Bob's room, Brendon, Ryan, Bob and I always went for leaning against the walls across from his bed, next to the beer cooler, which sat in the corner. Ryan and Brendon were on one side of it, and Bob and I leaned against the other wall. William always sat backwards in Bob's rolling desk chair, wrists resting on the back of it with a bottle beer of dangling in his hands, and Pete and Patrick always sprawled out on the bed, the fucking lovebirds, with their legs tangled.

"I'm not going with that asshole," I said. I tipped my beer in Brendon's direction."You go with him, Urie."

"I'm bringing Sarah, dumbass."

Pete said, "Whipped," and Patrick said, "Like you, sweetheart?" and everyone laughed.

Brendon just grinned, flipping us off and throwing back a swallow of beer. "Hey, I've got a hot girl and everyone here except those two disgusting saps is single. I think I'm winning."

Bob raised his eyebrows. "Isn't she, like, denying you sex, though?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

Ryan hollered, "Whipped," and Brendon smacked his shoulder.

"Urie does have a point." William sighed. "He's got a hot date and we're all single, sex or no sex."

Pete grinned. "Jealous bitches." Patrick kissed his cheek.

"Hey, Frank," Ryan said, loud, even though he was two feet away and petting Bob's stupid orange cat. "You should bring Gerard."

I think I choked on my beer.

"Gerard  _Way?_ " someone asked.

"Yeah," Ryan said, grinning. "Frank has a total boner for him."

"Dude," Patrick said. "He's in the chorus class after mine. He's so quiet. I'm pretty sure he'd pass out at a party."

"He always smells like booze, though," Pete pointed out thoughtfully, looking at his boyfriend. "He can probably hold a drink well."

I rolled my eyes. "I always smell like booze, Pete, and I once puked after two beers."

"Yeah," Bob said. "But, like, that was before you started constantly smelling like it. How much do you even drink, Iero? Three a day?"

I rolled my eyes and kicked his ankle. "Maybe a few every other day, asshole. I'm not a fucking alcoholic."

Bob rolled his eyes but let it slide. The guys all knew I drank way more often than I should, but they also knew I had a lot of shit going on and when I was drunk, it all slipped away. Germs weren't even a problem, if I had enough alcohol in my system. It was awesome.

"Bring Gerard," Ryan said. "You know you want to."

I took a sip of beer. "Sure you won't be jealous, honey?"

A few of the guys snickered but Ryan just laughed. "I'll try my hardest not to let my emotions get the best of me, babydoll."

We all sat in silence, for a moment, and I was painfully aware that they were all waiting for my final decision.

I chugged the last of my beer and Ryan leaned over, passing me another because he knew I'd need it.

I sighed, popping open the drink and taking a few swallow. "I'll ask him." They cheered like it was something to be proud of. "But, like, as friends, okay? Just friends."

William and Bob both booed.

I glared at them. "I don't even know if he's, like, y'know. If he swings that way."

"Honey," Patrick said. "With pants as tight as he wears, he _has_  to swing way."


	4. "Sure. Under the stairs?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. So... It's been a while, yeah? A few months.
> 
> Here's a crash-course of how chaotic my life has been:  
> I visited my grandparents for a week in Illinois with my mom, her boyfriend, and a friend of mine.  
> My aunt and her girlfriend are getting married soon.  
> I admitted to my mom that I've been having more issues with anxiety than she once thought (I skipped out on a lot of details, though, what she knows barely scratches the surface,) and she's considering asking my doctor to put me on medication for it.  
> I'm still struggling to get used to my parent's divorce.  
> My mom and her boyfriend had their first argument, and that was the most scared I've been in a long time.  
> I moved houses twice (I'm currently living in three different houses, but for two days I was living in four.)  
> I dated a girl for three hours before we sort-of-mutually decided it wouldn't work.  
> I got back together with my ex-girlfriend (who is on Wattpad now! Go say hi to @cxbicles!)  
> I started a second tumblr, this one purely for music I like and audio files. (My personal is youhitlikeagxrl.tumblr.com, and this secondary one is batsandbands.tumblr.com)  
> Also, I've written out some plot ideas for a lot of different fics and one-shots!
> 
> I'm sure more than just that has happened, and I know it has- I'd just like to apologize sincerely for the too-long wait for this chapter. I also, as always, would like to apologize for my shitty editing skills.
> 
> Anyway. Like always, please- enjoy!

"So, uh." I half-sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. I was chanting  _I'm an idiot_  in the forefront of my mind, like a mantra. "William Beckett is having this party..."

My phone buzzed on my bedside table, demanding attention. I groaned, stepping over a pile of clothes to get to it.

It was Ryan's name on the screen, so I snapped an impatient, "What?" when I hit the 'answer' button.

"We're outside, dipshit." Ryan honked the horn for emphasis and I winced, hearing it both through my phone and from outside.

"Fine, okay." I glanced back at myself in the mirror. The more I messed with my hair the more I fucked it up, but for some reason my brain decided that maybe if I just kept touching it, something okay-ish looking would fall into place. "Stop honking. Give me a minute, I'll be right out."

He made an annoyed sound. "I've been honking for five minutes."

"Yeah, and I've been ignoring you for five minutes."

"What's taking you so long, man? You're not, like, teenage-girling on us, are you?"

I almost laughed, grabbing my backpack and slinging it over my shoulder, glancing at myself in the mirror one last time. My hair was so stupid, and I looked sort of like I was dying. I'd gotten a total of three hours of sleep, maybe, and I'd skipped out on dinner. By the time I got through the school day, I had a hunch that my stomach would eat my brain. "Teenage-girling?"

"Yeah," he said, and I could tell he was smiling. "You know. Asking your reflection to the eighth grade semi-formal."

I faked a laugh. "Ha. Fuck you."

Then I hung up on Ryan, because seriously, fuck him.

"Frank," my mom called from the living room, sounding exasperated. "I hope that was Ryan you were just talking to. As much as we love that boy, he-" She paused, a series of honks interrupting her.

I clicked my bedroom door shut as I made my way towards the front of the house, tugging on my gloves. Mom leaned against the doorway separating the living room and kitchen, white apron dotted with various food stains.

"I told him to shut up," I said, wincing at another honk. I kissed my mother's cheek. She had those dark circles under her eyes again, I couldn't help but notice the anxiety rising in my throat. Wisps of gray showed themselves at the roots of her periodically dyed hair and her red lipstick looked faded, like it was leftover from the day before. "I better get going before we both die of migraines." I forced a smile.

Mom smiled, too, tight-lipped. "As much as we both love that boy, he's damn lucky we keep him around."

I laughed, nodding as I shuffled my way towards the door. "Yeah, for sure."

"Try to have a good time at school, dear."

I glanced at her over my shoulder, ignoring Ryan's persistent honking. "Try to get some rest today, mom."

She nodded, her smile looking harsher. "I'll try."

I nodded, too, and shut the door behind me.

As soon as I was outside, Ryan's honking stopped and he rolled the passenger-side window down.

Ryan had an okay car, I guess. It used to be his dad's and was this short, ugly gray thing. It ran well, though, and was almost impossible to dent, so we kept it around.

"Hey, Francine!" Ryan hollered. "When does your mommy want us to have you home by?"

I flipped him off, swinging open the back door and throwing my bookbag at Brendon. He raised his arms, phone in one hand and half a bagel in the other.

"Didn't touch it," he said, proud.

"Smart man," I observed, pulling the bag off of his lap. "Hey, are there more bagels? I'm starving."

"Sorry," Patrick said from the passenger seat, frowning into the rear-view mirror. "I think I ate the last one."

I leaned into the front of the car, Ryan had already started moving the vehicle but I kissed him on the cheek anyway. "Hey, doll," I said, keeping my voice stiff.

He grinned, waiting until I'd plopped back into my seat to speak. "Francine, darling."

I rolled my eyes. "I am not teenage-girling, shut up."

Brendon gave me a look that got across his thoughts before he even spoke. "You're wearing pants that actually make it look like you have an ass and you don't smell like booze."

"So?" I asked, resisting the urge to glare at him. "I showered and got new jeans, whatever. Alert the media."

"You were late," Patrick pointed out, failing to be helpful. "And your hair looks nice."

Just for that, I reached up and knocked his hat off of his head, into his lap. He made some type of weird, like, distressed pterodactyl noise, and had the hat back on before I even had a chance to smirk.

"How much have you smoked today?" Ryan asked.

I glanced at the back of his head. Ryan was wearing clothes that used to belong to me, a yellow Modest Mouse shirt and, from what I could see, a torn up pair of jeans. He looked more like a teenage boy than a dumb hippie, for once, and I couldn't help but wonder if he'd been too lazy to bother matching a vest to a button-up, or if he'd done it on purpose. "You mean, since midnight?"

"Sure."

I put my hand over the pack of cigarettes in my front pocket, like maybe it would help me guess. "Only, like, five or six. I think."

"Dude, it's not even eight in the morning, yet." Ryan sighed, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror. I chewed on my lip, not making eye contact. "Face it, man, you're trying to look nice for someone and it's stressing you out."

"You're totally teenage-girling," Patrick summarized.

"I am not," I said, sort of whining as I shoved my elbows against my bag. "I'm just nervous about the party thing, okay? I barely know Gerard, I don't want to fuck this up."

"You're such a baby," Brendon sighed, rolling his eyes. He chewed on a piece of his bagel. "Just ask him out, damn. You'll never know unless you take a chance."

"What if I fuck up my chance?"

"Well, make sure you don't. Get him drunk, get yourself drunk, get him alone, and then get laid. The chain of events isn't that hard to figure out."

"I don't want to 'get laid,'" I said, glaring. "Like I said, I barely know him. I want to at least be his friend, first. I'm not looking for a one-night stand."

"You're just being prude," Brendon shot back. "It's a party and he's the best shot you've had in a long time, Iero, probably the best shot you'll get before you graduate. Take it while you can."

"He's not a 'best shot,'" I frowned, offended. "He's just some dude I think is hot, okay? I don't have to sleep with him."

"You might as well. You don't want to finish high school still a virgin, do you? You said it yourself."

"Well, that's true, but-"

"You don't have much time left," Brendon reminded me. "You'll be a senior next year, man." He paused, glancing around the car. "We all will. And then we'll all be too stressed about exams and colleges to even  _think_  about sex. We're all running out of time."

I turned my head, looking out the window. "I can't just do it with  _some guy,_ " I said, feeling like an idiot. I was losing this argument, Brendon had a huge point. I'd had several semi-drunk, sometimes even sober, ramblings about not wanting to be a virgin when high school ended. I couldn't maintain a stable relationship, I couldn't kiss on first dates- I wanted at least some part of my high school experience to be stupid and stereotypical and  _normal..._  But that didn't mean I couldn't do it the way  _I_  wanted to, right? "I can't just fuck a hot dude at a party because he's available and drunk."

"Because of the germ thing?" Brendon asked, actually sounding interested.

"No," I said, looking at my gloved hands and picking at the fabric. "It's a morals thing, dude. I may not care about germs when I'm wasted but that doesn't mean I don't care about, like, _caring._ "

There was a considerable length of silence before Brendon said, "So, what? Are you just gonna' wait until marriage, or whatever?"

"No," I said, automatically, looking at him.

One of his eyebrows arched, just slightly higher than the other. "Then what are you waiting for, Iero? A sign from God?"

"The right guy," I pushed. "Someone I know I care about."

"True love?" Brendon looked like he was going to laugh. "Like I said, you're acting so prude."

I rolled my eyes. "That coming from the guy who got grounded because he couldn't keep his dick in his pants, seriously, am I supposed to be offended?"

"At least I'm not scared to get laid," he shot back.

"Stop being a bitch to me," I said, because fucking hell, I wasn't fucking  _scared._  "You've slept with four people in the past month and your girlfriend doesn't know about any of them." I should've stopped there, I knew I should've, but I couldn't shut myself up. I've always sucked at knowing when to stop. "You're such a man-whore, Brendon, I don't want your advice about sex. You fuck anyone of consenting age that has time to waste and a cute smile, I don't want anything to do with that."

Brendon stared at me and I stared at Brendon and Patrick cut in with, "Last night was fun," because he hated conflict.

"Yeah," Ryan said, giving me a look in the rear-view mirror. I wanted to apologize, I was such an asshole. I was tired and starving and irritable, so when Brendon struck a nerve, I struck right back. "Pete teaching you to skateboard was really cute, Patrick."

"Yeah," Brendon agreed, slowly. He was still looking at me. "We probably shouldn't have let Bob skate drunk, though."

I turned my head to look out the window. I wanted to punch myself in the face, holy shit. I wanted Brendon to punch me in the face. God knows I deserved it.

I stayed quiet the rest of the way to school, curling my hands into fists so tight my skin felt like it was going to tear. I had a gruesome mental image of that, of flesh splitting, ligaments popping apart like seams of an old jacket, and flattened my hands out as fast as I could, taking a deep breath. It made me want to puke, the idea of blood, sticky and warm between my fingers, oozing beneath the fabric of my gloves.

When we got to school, Ryan and Patrick got out first, leaving me to force out an apology.

"Brendon?" I said. I felt light-headed, my hands as flat as physically possible against my bookbag, I kept having intrusive thoughts of exposed bone on the backs of my hands. The hundreds of gory horror movies I'd watched over summer flashed through my head, and I wondered if maybe that's why Ryan was so hesitant to watch the all the Saw movies with me.

Brendon sighed, half-way through the door already. "Yeah, man?"

"I didn't mean it, you know that, right? I don't- I mean, I don't think you're a 'man-whore.'"

He faltered, looking at me. "I really like Sarah," he said, voice quiet like he was forcing it to stay steady.

I gave him a weak smile. "I know, man."

He nodded. "And you- you really like this Gerard guy, right?"

I shrugged, my smile slipping. "He's cool, I mean..."

"Then you get it, right? Why it's hard for me to commit one-hundred-percent?"

I took a deep breath. I wasn't sure how, exactly, I was supposed to be understanding that, but somehow I did. It wasn't commitment he was scared of, it was the fact that he might fuck up what he had with her. He'd rather lose her than hurt her, he'd rather her be rid of him than damage their relationship and cause her pain. I nodded, saying, "Yeah," even though my feelings on the situation were reversed. I barely knew Gerard, but I was terrified. I was so terrified of being hurt. I'd rather not have him at all than suffer losing him, if I messed something up later down the line.

"Yeah," Brendon agreed.

He got out of the car, then, and I flopped my head back on the seat. I felt like a piece of shit. I wanted to puke- I was still thinking about gross bloody knuckles, and fucking hell, I was such an idiot.

Fucking _fuck,_ today sucked so far.

Ryan opened the car door after Brendon and Patrick had walked down the hill, towards the building. "We're already late."

I looked up at him, not moving, keeping my bag on my lap. "I'm a piece of shit."

He sighed. "No you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"Frank-"

"I'm shit, okay? Did you even  _hear_  what I just said to Bren? I'm an actual bitch."

Ryan stared at me and I wanted to cry.

"Get out of my car," he said.

"Ryan-"

"Fucking get out of my car," he snapped. "Fucking- don't do this, man. You were an absolute bitch, I admit that, but it's too early for you to hate yourself this much."

I dropped my head back against the seat, closing my eyes and swallowing. My head still had the stupid fucking Saw movies playing on repeat, though, and I got a nasty feeling about slit throats, so I had my eyes open and my head turned to look at Ryan again. "Look, I'm just not feeling well. Can I have your keys?"

I couldn't bring myself to make eye contact.

Ryan sighed, loud, like he was trying his hardest to stay pissed off at me, and then dug his car keys out of his pocket. He dropped them onto my hands, the weight and metallic clinking making me flinch. He looked disappointed but we both knew there was no use in me even trying to go to school, as nervous and pissy as I was feeling. I'd end up either puking or punching someone, and neither sounded pleasant.

"I'm not going to lie to Gerard for you," Ryan said. "If you not being in that cafeteria later fucks up whatever it is you're trying to do with him, it's not my fault."

I reached out and touched his leg, grazing my fingers across his knee. "I'll be in the cafeteria," I promised. "But if I fuck it up, I fuck it up. He's just some guy, Ryan, it'll be okay."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself." He dug his wallet out of his pocket, too, and tossed it at me. I wasn't quick enough, though, and it hit me in the chest with an embarrassingly painful thud. "Don't fuck up my car."

I curled my fingers around the keys, my other hand gripping his wallet. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"And don't drink, either," Ryan said. "That money is for food, not tequila."

I almost laughed. "I may be a reckless driver when I'm upset but I'm not stupid."

"You're stupid," he deadpanned. "Seriously, not even a little, Frank. Not two fucking sips, not one. No matter how well you think you can handle yourself. If you come to school with alcohol in your system, Rickly will skin you alive, he'd be so disappointed."

I rolled my eyes. Ryan told me the same thing every time I ditched class, like I was seriously going to forget how humiliated I'd been when my favorite teacher found me puking up vodka in the janitor's closet when I was supposed to be in his class.

"I'll be fine, Ryan, trust me. I just need some time, y'know? Between my parents and Gerard and just, like, depression and shit... I need some time."

Ryan faltered, and I almost smiled, because no matter how annoyed he was trying to act, I knew he always worried about me.

"Don't fuck up my car," he said again.

It was code for, 'Don't kill yourself,' so I nodded in agreement. "Not today," I assured him.

"Not  _ever,_  asshole," he said, leaning down into the car to kiss my forehead.

I rolled my eyes and swatted him away. "You're late for class, man."

"Like you care about attendance records."

"Seriously," I said, climbing out of his car, letting my bookbag fall into the floor of the backseat, putting his wallet and keys in the pocket of my hoodie. "Get moving before you get detention and I have to fill in for you at work."

"Oh, boo-hoo," he said, as I pulled him into a hug.

I laughed, breathing deep with my cheek pressed against his. "I'll be back by lunch, okay?" I promised. "I just need a while to calm down."

"I feel that," he said, resting the his head against mine. "But, like, no jerking off in my car. Not that type of calm."

I grinned and pushed him away. "You ruin all the fun."

"And you're gonna' ruin the leather!" he protested, giggling.

I kissed his nose and pushed his shoulder. "Go get smart," I told my best friend. "I love you."

"Love you too, Frankie. Go get happy," he said, taking a few steps backward.

I gave a half-salute and he rolled his eyes, turning around. I waited until he got up to the school building, almost wincing as he opened the front door because he was at least five minutes late.

I didn't know what to do with myself, exactly, so when I pulled Ryan's car into the main road, I went in the general direction of the only place I could think to go.

"Hey, Jamia," I said into my phone, pausing at a red light. "I've got until noon to hang out, wanna' catch brunch?"

There was a pause and then she sort of laughed, making me smile. "Shouldn't you be in school, Iero?"

I rolled my eyes. "Shouldn't your mom be teaching you something, Nestor?"

She laughed for real, then, and I had to smile. She was always contagious, with her happiness. I loved that about her. "Mom is at some work meeting today, doofus, so I get a day off in the wonderful land of homeschooling."

"Then come hang out with me," I insisted, easing back into the flow of traffic as the light shifted to green. "I need, like, moral support."

"Because of that boy you like?"

I rolled my eyes. "Because of that boy, because of my parents, because of school... The usual, y'know?"

"Yeah," she said. "I know."

I chewed at the inside of my lip, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. "So, we're on for brunch?"

"Fixing my hair right now," she confirmed.

"Your hair looks fine."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," I said, turning onto her street. "Your hair always looks good."

"Not as good as yours," she shot back.

"Hey, I'm on your street," I told her, slowing the car down to a crawl. "Come outside."

Her house was the fourth one down, small and cute and pale blue. A shadow in her bedroom window moved. "You're moving slower than a snail, Iero."

"Giving you time to fix your hair," I said, leaning forward in my seat, trying to see through her window. I knew she was looking out at me, she could probably see me stretching my neck like a fucking turtle.

"I thought you said it looked good already?" she asked, pout evident in her voice.

I honked twice and she hung up on me.

I just grinned, though, and waited, watching her lock the door and smile at me as she walked down the sidewalk.

"What?" she said, when I rolled down my window. "You're not gonna' open the door for me?"

"Chivalry is dead," I said, shrugging.

Jamia tugged the door open and let it slam shut, rolling her eyes from the passenger seat. "Even for your best girl?"

"Even for my  _only_  girl," I confirmed, putting the car in motion.

Jamia laughed and then just smiled, looking at me.

"What?" I asked, glancing at her after a few seconds. "What's that look for?"

She grinned. "It's been a while," she said. "Since we've been out."

"Yeah..."

Jamia leaned back into the passenger seat of Ryan's car. "In that case, Iero, let's talk."

"Talk, okay," I said, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "About what?"

"Well, you called me, doofus. Wanna start with why?"

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, Miss Psychiatrist. I skipped school today."

"What's new?" she asked, smirking.

"That boy."

"Does _'that boy'_  have a name? You still haven't told me."

I hesitated, glancing at her. She was leaning back, looking at me with those sweet brown eyes.

"Don't give me that look," I said, frowning.

"What look?"

"Like you know something that I don't."

"Well, maybe I do."

"Seriously, Jamia."

"Seriously, Frank."

I held back a groan. "Okay, his name is Gerard."

She didn't answer and that freaked me out.

"Do you know him?" I asked, glancing at her.

She hesitated, shifting in her seat to look out the window. "Is his last name Way?"

"Yeah, yeah- you know him?"

"Not personally, but-" She shook her head. "Frank, holy shit. Bad choice."

"'Holy shit?'" I echoed, panicking. I pressed down on the gas, glancing at Jamia. "Why 'holy shit?'"

"Lindsey used to date him."

I'd like to say that my body didn't falter and that the car didn't swerve the tiniest bit, but that would be a lie. "So, he's straight?"

"No, he's definitely gay."

"But-"

"That's why they broke up," Jamia shrugged. "Same reason we did, he realized he wasn't into chicks."

I forced myself to breathe. "Then why the 'holy shit?'"

"He's really weird, man," Jamia said, looking out the window again. "Like, 'something's-wrong-with-him' weird."

"Well, I know that much. You can talk to the dude for three minutes and know something's wrong."

"No. you don't know what I mean," she shot back, shaking her head. "I've only ever met him a few times but Lindsey used to tell me stuff about him. His habits, and stuff he used to say and shit."

I adjusted the rear-view mirror. "As long as he doesn't, like, kill small animals in his free time or perform bi-weekly cult rituals, I think I can handle it. He doesn't do those things, right?"

Jamia rolled her eyes. "Okay, yeah, he doesn't do those things, but he's still pretty freaky. Don't let yourself get too attached before you know more about him."

"Does he, like, talk to ghosts?" I joked, not being able to think of anything too seriously wrong with him that would scare me away. "Or eat human flesh or something?"

Jamia paused and I couldn't help myself, I totally laughed.

"So he's a cannibal?" I questioned. "I know I'm vegetarian and all, but whatever floats his boat, I guess."

Jamia kind of laughed, too, but something was still off about her smile, so I wondered what I'd said. "You're an idiot, Iero."

"But you know you love me, Nestor."

She really did laugh that time, her smile feeling warm, like relief. "Unfortunately, I do. Anyway, whatever. Take your chances with bat-boy."

"Bat-boy?" I grinned.

Jamia smiled. "Yeah. Inside joke with Linds and I. I don't remember how it started, but it fits. But, seriously- I can talk to Lindsey and see if she knows if he's, like, available or whatever." She tapped her fingers on the side of her seat. "You are going to ask him out, right?"

"I don't know. I really like him, but…"

"But you don't want it to end up like us?"

I nodded. I couldn't handle that again, the way being with Jamia felt so wrong even though she was everything I could've asked for and so much more. I wanted her and I wanted to be with her, but I couldn't stay with her because the physical attraction just wasn't there. I didn't want my fucked up brain to get in the way of the healthy relationship she deserved.

I sighed. "When you date someone, you either get married or break up. Both of those are terrifying."

Jamia sighed, too. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try. You said you think he's hot, and he's- well, he's a  _dude._  So it's not like you'll start doing that stupid guilt-trip thing to yourself again. Unless it's because of germs, this time."

"I wasn't guilt-tripping myself, I-"

"'Didn't want me to be with someone who didn't appreciate my body,'" she quoted. "It's sweet of you, but it's totally a guilt-trip."

I chewed my lip, turning into the parking lot of our favorite sandwich shop. "Okay, fine. It was a guilt-trip. But that's because I felt  _guilty_  about it."

I still did feel guilty, I just didn't want to admit how selfish I was. I broke up with Jamia because I thought I was unworthy- but I still wanted her, I couldn't deny it.

I felt like an ass for that, though.

"Ask him out," Jamia said, changing the subject back to Gerard. 

"I barely know him," I argued. "How do I decide if I want to risk breaking up with him, or if I want to be stuck being friends with him?"

"Take him out on one date. Don't give it a name, just let it be a test run. If you have a nice time, ask him if he wants to go out a second time, and then a third, then a fourth, and take it from there. Let it work itself out."

I sighed, swinging the car door open as Jamia did the same. "What if he doesn't even say yes to the date?"

"Then you're shit out of luck and you move on."

"Wow," I said, as we both got out of the car. "That's very comforting, Mia, thank you."

"I'm serious," she insisted, falling in step next to me. "One date, take it from there."

 

\---

 

When I got back to school, lunch was just starting. Ryan caught me, standing near the cafeteria doors, before I could sit down. I glanced over at our regular table, feeling my heart do a stupid type of back-flip when I saw Gerard sitting there, chewing his nails and sketching, glancing around every few seconds like he was ready to go into "fight versus flight" mode.

"Is my car in one piece?" Ryan asked, leaning against the wall.

I shrugged. I had the entire room behind me, but something about the conversation made me feel trapped. "I had Mia with me, you think I'd let anything happen to her?"

"Oh, so you were ditching to hang out with your ex-girlfriend? And I thought you honestly needed a day off."

I rolled my eyes, adjusting the straps of my backpack. "Don't go there, dickface."

He raised his hands, mocking innocence. "Okay, yeah, that was uncalled for. But seriously, how'd it go? How's Jamia?"

"She's good." I hesitated, not sure if I should tell him what she said about Gerard. "Y'know that chick Lindsey that she's friends with?"

Ryan tilted his head back, thinking about it. He has his arms crossed, but I couldn't decide if he was in a bad mood or was just trying to look cool. Either way, he was doing pretty bad at getting his point across. "She's the one that goes to the private school, with the uniforms, right? Always has the pigtails?"

"Yeah, yeah- her. Evidently she and Gerard used to, uh, be a thing."

Ryan just looked at me.

"But, obviously they broke up. But it was because, uhm. Because Gerard figured out his sexuality."

Ryan's stupid face broke out in a grin. "So he's ripe for the picking?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Oh my god, man." I had to squeeze my eyes shut, just to push the question out of my head. "Never, ever talk about him like that again."

"Getting defensive over a boy that's not even yours?"

"No, I'm- fuck, no. It's just disgusting. He's not food, or something. He's a human being."

Ryan shrugged. "Fair enough. But speaking of Gerard, he, uh-" Ryan broke off the sentence, smiling and waving at someone across the cafeteria. I glanced over my shoulder to see Gerard give a tight-lipped smile, raising one hand awkwardly. "He seems to have noticed you. He's been staring at the back of your head for a few minutes."

I shifted, feeling watched. I couldn't help myself, I reached up and ran my hand through my hair. "So, I- I'll go over there, I guess?"

"That seems to be the thing to do."

I swallowed. "Jamia said I should ask him out. On a date."

"I agree."

I rolled my eyes. "That's very helpful, thank you."

Ryan stood up straight, away from the wall, dropping his arms by his sides. "Seriously. Ask him out."

I straightened myself up, too, realizing I'd been slouched over. I prayed that Gerard hadn't noticed. "Hey, are you, uh- I mean, everything okay? You seem sort of pissy. Well, not pissy, but... Off? I guess?"

He paused, I knew, I could tell it in the way it took a few seconds for sound to come out after he'd opened his mouth. He was debating if he should tell the truth or not. "Ask me that again after school. It'll take a while to explain."

I raised my eyebrows, but nodded. "Okay, sure. Wanna' give me a summary, though?"

He rolled his eyes. "No. Just go ask your stupid crush out, damn. I'm gonna' go see what Brendon's up to. Don't fuck this up, okay?"

I rolled my eyes, too. "Okay, I'll try not to."

Walking across the cafeteria made me feel vulnerable.

I tried not to stare at Gerard, but he glanced up before I had a chance to look away. If that wasn't an embarrassing way to start the situation, I didn't know what was.

"Hey, uh-" Gerard stood up when I got to the edge of the table. He looked as nervous as I felt, so maybe he knew what was about to happen. I hoped he was nervous because he  _hoped_  it would happen. "Can I bum a smoke?"

"Yeah, uhm, sure." I wiggled my pack out of my front pocket. "Mind if I join you?"

"Yeah, uh- I mean, sure, no problem." He paused, looking up at the ceiling with that strange stare of his. He looked like he wanted to cuss, loud, and I felt the same way. "Sure. Under the stairs?"

"Yeah," I said, my smile not as forced as I thought it would be. "That's the best spot, always."

I waited while he gathered up his books. I caught a peek of the cover of Frankenstein and of that comic he was drawing for his friend, and then we walked outside together. I ended up being a few steps ahead, and even though he didn't seem to mind, he took a few quick steps as we got closer to the door.

He pushed it open for me, offering a shy smile, not making eye contact.

"Thanks," I said, blinking as I stepped past him.

I looked up as we walked down the side of the building, away from the cafeteria windows and towards the back flight of stairs. They were only ever used to enter and exit the auditorium, so over the years they'd become a 'safe zone' for students. As long as we didn't, like, hurt each other, the teachers pretty much ignored us while we were back there.

The sky was intimidating, though, more intimidating than any teacher could've been. It was gray outside, the clouds hid the sun and threw a strange sort of shadow over everything.

It didn't smell like rain, but it was kissing weather, and when storm clouds threatened to spill over, so did words. There was a lot I wanted to blurt out to Gerard right then, dumb stuff, like ' _you're hot,'_  and ' _wanna fuck?'_

We sat our things down and stood beneath the stairs, the shadow hiding us from the already dimmed sun. I passed Gerard a cigarette, holding it out between my fore and middle fingers. He had his own lighter, it was cheap and electric green- the color reminded me of that stupid Jolly Rancher candy I always hated as a kid. The green apple was always my least favorite flavor.

I lit my cigarette, took a long drag, and then allowed myself to speak. "Hey, uh- Gerard?"

He looked at me, raising his eyebrows, an enticing motion combined with the senseless sex appeal of the cigarette dangling from his lips. "Yeah?"

"Do you, uhm?" I rubbed my jaw, averted my eyes. "Do you know William Beckett?"

"Yeah," he said, talking around his cigarette still. He put two fingers on it to keep it steady, and then sucked in, face pale but cheeks rosy. He asked, "Why?" with smoke trailing out of his mouth, and all the blood in my head traveled south. I don't think I'd ever hated my own anatomy more than I did right then.

"He's having a party, Friday." I leaned back against the brick side of the school building, pushing smoke out between my lips. I hated having crushes, I always tried to look a lot cooler than I knew I was in front of them. I had my head tilted and my body stretched, I was holding my cigarette the same way Sandy did at the end of Grease. "Ryan and I thought maybe you would want to come."

Gerard sucked at his cigarette while he thought about it. I forced myself to look at the sky instead of him, the storm clouds and the tops of the rotting trees, but I could still see him in my peripheral vision. "I dunno," he said, keeping the cig in his mouth as he spoke, almost the same way Danny did throughout most of Grease. There was something stupid, about that, something nearly ironic. Maybe if I put on a leather jacket and curled my hair he'd like me better. "Parties aren't really my scene, y'know?" He shuffled his feet around and shrugged. "I'm not big on crowds."

 _I was not crushed, I was not crushed, I was not crushed, I was not crushed._  I repeated it in my head until I finally admitted to myself that okay, I was totally crushed, but trying my hardest not to show it.

I took deep breaths, in through the cigarette, out through my mouth. I wanted to shove the cig through my skull- I wanted to shove it into my wrist and light myself on fire.

"That's okay," I said, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

I felt like I had to get away from Gerard or I'd puke on his shoes.

I scratched the side of my nose with my thumb, resisting the urge to jab myself in the eye with my cigarette. I had to think fast, there was no way I was turning back now.

"So, uh. I didn't even ask, shit. Are you doing anything this weekend?"

Gerard shrugged, moving his cig away from his mouth, holding it with three fingers. He looked at me from behind smoke, his raven hair framing his cheeks. With the impending storm behind him, he looked like something out of a movie. I wanted to shove him up against the wall and kiss his stupid face, but I doubted it would work in my favor.

"Probably not. I'll be just, like, watching horror movies with my brother or some shit. Or drawing bat anatomy and sleeping."

I sucked in on my cigarette, nodding and blowing smoke out of my nose. Why'd I have to have a crush on him, of all people? A dumb boy who liked horror movies and bat anatomy. Shit.

I tried not to be too obvious when I said, "Maybe we could hang out. Just the two of us, instead of going to the party, or something."

Gerard just looked at me, so okay, yeah, I think was being obvious.

"Like, uh?"

I shrugged. My head felt like it was going to explode. Or maybe implode, I dunno. Whichever hurt more. "Like, y'know. Maybe we could go out. Or something."

His lips worked thoughtfully around his cigarette, and that was totally not helping. If cute boys were ruining my life, he was shitting on it. "Go out," he echoed.

"Yeah," I said. "Like, catch a movie." I dropped my cigarette and stubbed it out with my toe. "Or get dinner or go to the mall or whatever."

He nodded, slow, breathing out smoke. The color of it blended well with the sky. "Any of those sound alright to me."

I tried not to look too surprised or too excited or too much like an idiot in general. "Really?"

He smiled. "Yeah, really."

"Cool, uh-" I tried not to smile too much, but it was a useless battle. "Could I get your number, or something? Or I could give you mine?"

"Sure, yeah, uhm- Yeah."

We went through the process of exchanging numbers, and I tried my hardest not to grin too wide at him.

He didn't seem to mind, though, he even sort of grinned back.

"So, I'll call you," I said, feeling nearly crooked with joy. The gray sky didn't even matter, then, the rumble of thunder made me feel giddy.

"Yeah," Gerard said, smile as lopsided as mine felt. "I'm looking forward to it."


End file.
